It was Lieutenant Vidolet’s company on the field. He wasn’t part of the noble clique around Novus, and Winter didn’t think he’d deliberately sabotage the drill. His men certainly looked as though they’d been practicing, going through the manual of arms with smooth precision. He shouted, “Fire!” and a chorus of clicks answered him.

Abby’s company of the Girls’ Own had improved as well. Their loading was faster, and they seemed more comfortable in their two-woman teams, trading off firing as fast as they could ram home imaginary musket balls. They also seemed to be more enthusiastic about the exercise. Playful shouts went up with each shot.

“Got one!”

“Take that, you damned Elysian!”

“Bagged myself a general!”

“No, you didn’t, you only knocked off his hat!”

But the next part is the real test. Winter nodded to Folsom, who took a deep breath.

“Skirmish line, fall back! Main line, prepare to pass skirmishers!”

Abby’s company turned at once and sprinted back toward Vidolet’s, where the men halted in their loading and firing and presented their muskets in a stiff line, as though they were brandishing bayonets. The Girls’ Own soldiers surged toward them, a confused mass of running, laughing women, and Winter braced herself for the collision.

It never came. The Royals turned neatly in place, opening holes in the line just wide enough to run through, and Abby’s company passed through as cleanly and quickly as a pebble dropped into a cup of water. The women came out the other side of the line, whooping and hollering; Abby herself, who was waiting there, immediately began getting them to form a line of their own. In less than a minute, they were all through, and the Royals closed ranks again to present an unbroken line of muskets to the “enemy.”

“Fire!” Vidolet shouted, to another round of clicks.

The soldiers began their loading drill again, and Winter let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

“It works,” Cyte said.

“Get them to try it again,” Winter said. “Then switch companies. I want every soldier to have a chance to practice before we break camp today. If that all goes well, tomorrow we’ll see if they can do it with bayonets fixed.” Assuming we get another day to practice. They were only fifteen miles from Gaafen, where the enemy was reported to be digging in.

“Yes, sir!” Cyte said.

“And once we make camp tonight, go and get decent food for everybody. Spend whatever we’ve got left.”

Cyte nodded. “Yes, sir. What about Novus?”