Behind Mahlia, someone sniggered. Others were watching. All of them waiting to see what Soa would do next.

“Well?” Soa asked. “You got a surrender slogan? I’m waiting.”

She knew what he was referring to. When she was little, the slogans were everywhere, painted on the walls of the city. The peacekeepers paid local people to put them up, trying to buy some goodwill and make people think about how they’d gotten themselves into the mess they were in, but the pictures and sayings always ended up getting scrawled with militia and warlord battle flags, and eventually the peacekeepers gave up.

Mahlia cleared her throat, hunting for one that wouldn’t set Soa off.

“ ‘Disarm to farm’?”

“That a question?”

Mahlia shook her head. “ ‘Disarm to farm,’ ” she repeated. A statement this time.

Soa grinned, wild eyes. “Oh yeah. I remember that one. That was a good one. All those peacekeeper soldiers giving rice and corn and soybeans if you’d just turn in a gun. I traded them an old .22 for a sack of rice I was supposed to go out and plant. Firing pin was all rusted out, and you suckers still paid.”

“I traded a .45, didn’t even have bullets,” another said.

“What was their whole thing?” Soa asked the group. “Our girl’s having a hard time remembering.”

“ ‘Turn the other cheek,’ ” someone said.

“ ‘Beat your swords into plowshares!’ ”

“ ‘Only animals tear each other apart!’ ”

More and more slogans poured out, the good intentions of the peacekeepers turned into a grand joke that soon had every soldier boy doubled over laughing as they named slogan after slogan. Every saying the peacekeepers had used as they tried to quell the violence of the Drowned Cities.

When their mirth died, Soa stared into Mahlia’s eyes. “You peacekeepers thought we were stupid. Thought we’d just let foreigners take us over. Make us into slaves. But we knew what you were up to all along. We don’t roll over; we fight for our country.” Soa scooped his hand through the pooled blood and shoved his dripping hand hard into her face, smearing. “When we bleed,” Soa said, “you say thank you.”

Mahlia fought not to flinch, but it was impossible and Soa didn’t stop. Just kept smearing. “You like that, girl? You like that? You too good for our blood, huh, peacekeeper? You too good?”

“That’s enough, soldier.”

To Mahlia’s surprise, Soa broke off. She blinked blood from her eyes.

From his sickbed, Sergeant Ocho was waving Soa away. “Don’t let the war maggot rile you, soldier.”

“I ain’t riled, I’m just teaching her a lesson.”

The sergeant’s voice was dryly amused, but still it carried authority as he said, “I think she gets it.”

Soa looked like he was about to protest, but then he looked at Mahlia and made a face of disgust. “Well, she gets it now.”