Devil's Due (Destroyermen #12)(73)
“Prisoners! Prisoners!” Blas shouted, gasping for air, her voice cracked, throat feeling like she’d swallowed hot sand. Others took up the call somewhat belatedly, and slowly, reluctantly, the killing began to ebb. It was only then she realized she was limping, and glanced dazedly at her right leg beyond the hem of her filthy, blood-soaked smock. How’d I get that? she wondered, seeing the deep puncture in her calf, blood flowing freely to mix pinkly with the foamy sweat slicking her fur. The rush of combat was beginning to fade, as if it was leaking from her wound. She felt faint.
“Corps-’Cat!” First Sergeant Spook bellowed, suddenly beside her. He looked worse than she did, with all the blood soaking his white fur.
“You do it,” Blas croaked, sitting heavily on a Dom corpse and fumbling at a pouch on her belt for a battle dressing. Her hands were shaking so badly, she let Spook get it out. “Healers are busy enough,” she managed to say, “an’ it’s just a little poke. Prob’ly a bayonet got me. By the looks of it, one of ours.” For some reason, that amused her. “How ’bout you? You look awful.”
Spook shrugged, uncapping the vial of polta paste and smearing it on her wound; then he started to apply the bandage. “I’m too daamn sore to tell, but I don’t think I’m hurt,” he answered at last. “That was tough,” he added, in classic understatement, tying the dressing in place. Then he raised his voice at the milling Marines and Ocelomeh. Many—those not still menacing the surrounded Doms—seemed utterly spent, almost in a state of shock. “Some o’ you dopes, gimme a haand with the major!”
Captain Ixtli himself, nose and lips smashed and bleeding from several superficial cuts, suddenly appeared and helped Blas to her feet. More of his people gathered, their haggard expressions radiating something like awe at the sight of her. “If I had any doubt before, Major Blas, I have none now,” he said softly. “We did our best”—his eyes strayed across the many, many dead as they filled with tears—“but we are mere pretenders. You and your people, your Mi-Anakka, gave us victory today! You are the true Ocelomeh!”
“Naah, Cap-i-taan Ixtli,” Spook said. “We’re just Maa-reens. Your people can do as well, once they’re armed an’ trained right.”
Blas said nothing as they helped her to where the shattered Doms waited. Sister Audry and Colonel Garcia joined them. Both looked terrible, and even Sister Audry’s smock was dark with blood. She saw Blas looking at it. “Captain Ximen tried to join the charge,” she said softly. “He never even made it over the barricade before he was shot down.”
“And Teniente Pacal,” Garcia added, knowing he was Blas’s friend.
“Daamn.” Blas shook her head, then looked at them. “Did you get anything from your prisoners?”
“We have barely tried as yet. We wanted to check on you. Sergeant Koratin has remained to speak to them through one of my men.”
“Then let’s see what these’ll spill.” Blas nodded forward.
“Certainly,” Garcia agreed, “but be warned; they do not consider themselves prisoners. They have not surrendered, and likely won’t.”
“We’ll see.” Blas stared at the Doms within the ring of leveled rifles and muskets. There were probably fewer than two hundred in this bunch. Those who could were standing, glaring with defiance. “Ask ’em who’s in charge.”
Garcia did, and a man dressed the same as the others except that his red facings were piped with gold lace stepped forward. His hat was gone and there was a bloody bandage around his head. He snapped something lengthy in response. “He’s their teniente. Their sole surviving officer.”
“What else did he say?”
“Only that we may as well kill them and send them down to, ah, Heaven. We may have won the fight, but lost the battle.”
“Then it’s just like Koratin suspected,” Blas said grimly. “Ask him where Don Her-naan is.”
When Garcia complied, the Dom laughed and spoke again. Garcia gasped. “He says His Holiness left the army even as they were ‘cleansing’ Kotopaxi.” (“Cleansing” meant “exterminating the people” there.) “And the main army force-marched away shortly afterward. As you said, we have pursued a mere reflection of ourselves for weeks!”
“But he doesn’t know that. He is gloating,” Sister Audry said with a frown. “As far as he knows, we are our main army, trapped in the wilderness. He also cannot know how quickly we can get word to General Shinya.”
“Not quick enough,” said Blas, blinking disgust as she looked at her bulky Imperial watch. She was amazed to realize it was already late afternoon. How long had that final assault taken? How long had they fought for their lives? Ordinarily, such things seemed to last much longer than they actually did. This time, apparently, it was the reverse. For her, at least. “Another day lost with this fighting, another to get word to Koto-paaxi an’ send a message. Even with air-craaft, who knows how long it’ll take Generaal Shin-yaa to shift gears, find an army that isn’t where he expects it to be, then change direction, if he can.”
“There is another concern,” Sister Audry said. “Quite obvious, actually, that the enemy officer told us without our even asking.” She looked at their questioning, blinking faces. “With Don Hernan gone, the enemy has had another commander for some time, obviously more talented, and therefore more dangerous. We were confident what Don Hernan would do: continue to flee to save his life. This other may do something entirely different. He’s likely already past Popayan, and may be moving to join their forces at the Pass of Fire. Or . . .” She paused, stricken. “If he somehow discovered it with his scouts, or even civilian rumors, he may be preparing to attack General Shinya’s army!”