The trio of unarmed women walked to within thirty yards of the barricade, and the sergeant cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted while one of the rankers waved the white flag in case the enemy had somehow missed it. There was a moment of silence, then an answering shout from behind the row of wagons. It was too far away for Winter to hear the words, but she caught the tone and let out a sigh. Probably too much to hope for—

A musket cracked, and then another. Dirt fountained by the sergeant’s feet. She backed up a step, still shouting, and another half dozen shots erupted from the barricade. The ranker carrying the flag sat down heavily, as though a chair had been pulled out from under her, then slumped to one side. The sergeant screamed and collapsed, clutching her knee. The second ranker turned to run, but made it only a few steps before she was struck from behind by two balls at once. A spray of blood and torn flesh erupted from her chest, and she fell heavily, face-first, and lay still.

“Bastards!” Graff yelled, raising his sword. Similar cries were going up all down the line of Girls’ Own, and a few women started forward. Winter took a deep breath and shouted as loud as she was able.

“Steady! Hold the line!”

A few officers repeated the command. Graff looked up at her, eyes wild with rage. For a moment she thought she was going to have to slap him, or worse, but he mastered himself and added his voice to the chorus.

“Steady! Steady! Hold!”

The sergeant was still alive, crawling away from the barricade with a slick of blood trailing from her wounded knee. Dirt erupted by her head as a Patriot on the barricade took a shot at her, and even across the distance Winter could hear laughter. A moment later, another shot ricocheted off a stone near her foot.

“They’re taking turns.” Graff turned to Winter, his expression pleading. “We have to help her!”

“They want us to charge.” Winter’s throat was thick. “There’s a rank of soldiers waiting behind that thing ready to fire. They want us to try storming it.”

“But that’s Sergeant Bells!” Graff said. “She—”

“It doesn’t matter who it is. We can’t get to her, not without leaving another dozen corpses out there.” She raised her voice again. “Hold the fucking line!”

Bells had managed to crawl ten yards or so before one of the men on the barricade managed to hit her, raising a spurt of blood instead of a column of dust. Winter let out her breath, only to suck it in again as the sergeant kept moving, pulling herself forward with a dying animal’s tenacity.

I am going to kill you all, Winter thought, teeth clenching so hard she felt they might shatter as more laughter came from the barricade. Every last fucking one.