“It’s not difficult,” Abby said, taking a position at Jane’s side. “Your men are deliberately fouling it up.”

Sur Gothin, a thin, prematurely balding man, removed his cap and scratched the top of his head. He looked at Sevran, then at Winter.

“They might be, at that,” he said eventually. “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll try to put the fear of God into them, but they’re a bit angry about all this.”

“They’re angry?” Jane snapped. “How do you think we feel?”

“J—” Winter checked herself. “Captain Verity, please. We need to make this work. Captain Sevran, please spread the word that I’m not happy about this, and that we’ll be making some changes.” She sighed. “No specific punishments yet. We’ll work out something more . . . general.”

“Yes, sir.” Relief was obvious in Sevran’s face. It would have been well within Winter’s authority to demand that examples be made, but she guessed it would be counterproductive. “I’ll make that clear, sir.”

“Thank you. That’s all for now.”

Sur Gothin and Sevran saluted and left in the direction of their camp.

“Should I be calling you Colonel Ihernglass, sir?” Jane said, smiling.

“In front of them, yes.”

The smile faded. “You don’t have to put on a show for them. You remember what the general told you. If they don’t respect you, we can always shoot a few of them.”

“That wouldn’t help.” Winter looked sidelong at Jane. “When you were running the Leatherbacks, did you shoot anybody who talked back?”

“I had to crack heads from time to time.” Jane frowned. “But we were all on the same side, more or less. This is different.”

“It shouldn’t be. The other side is over there”—Winter waved in the general direction of east—“the Leaguers, not the Royals.”

Jane shook her head. “It’s a nice sentiment, but I still don’t trust them farther than I can spit.”

And that, Winter thought as Jane walked away, is exactly the problem.

*   *   *

“Lieutenant?” Winter said. “Are you there?”

Cyte folded the tent flap open and blinked in the sun. It was nearly noon. “Sir! What can I do for you?”

“I have some ideas I want to run by you.”

Cyte waved her inside. The ex-student had a tent to herself, next to the one Bobby and Marsh shared. A folding desk featured centrally, occupied by an unrolled leather map painted in fine detail. A magnifying lens and a pair of dividers sat atop it. Winter looked at them curiously.

“What are you looking for?” she said.

“Oh.” Cyte flushed slightly. “Just . . . an exercise, sir. I plan my own route of march for the army and try to guess where the enemy might be. Then, when the general’s orders come down, I figure out where I went wrong.”

“Or where the general went wrong.”

Cyte laughed. “That seems unlikely, sir.”