Divine Rivals (Letters of Enchantment, #1)(66)
Iris’s mind was whirling, trying to sort through all the new information. Her hand reached for her mother’s locket, hidden beneath the linen of her jumpsuit.
“Is there a chance we’ll see action?” Roman asked.
“Yes,” Captain Speer said. “Wear a helmet, obey orders, and stay down at all times.” Her gaze snagged on a soldier passing by. “Lieutenant Lark! See to it that the correspondents are given instruction and equipment for their time here. They’ll shadow your platoon for the next several days.”
A fresh-faced soldier stood at attention before his eyes rested on Roman and Iris. Captain Speer was halfway across the road before Lark said, “First time, is it?”
Iris resisted the urge to glance at Roman. To see if he was feeling the same dread and excitement that was coursing through her.
“Indeed,” Roman said, extending his hand. “Roman Kitt. And this is—”
“Iris Winnow,” Iris said before he could introduce her. The lieutenant smiled as he shook her hand. A scar cut through his mouth; it tugged the right corner of his lips down, but his eyes were crinkled at the edges, as if he had smiled and laughed often in the time before the war. Iris wondered how long he had been fighting. He looked so young.
“We’re happy to have you both here,” Lark said. “Come, I’m just heading to the mess hall to eat my last hot meal for a few days. It’d be good to grab a bite yourselves, and I’ll explain more about what you can expect.”
Lark began to lead the way to the city-hall-turned-mess, and Iris moved to walk on the other side of him, so that the lieutenant was between her and Roman. Roman noticed; he granted Iris a slight glance before turning his attention to what lay before them.
“I have a confession, Lieutenant,” she began. “I’m not familiar with how the army is divided. Captain Speer said we’ll be accompanying your platoon?”
“Yes,” Lark replied. “There are four companies per battalion. Two hundred men and women per company, and four platoons in each company. I oversee roughly fifty men and women in mine, with Sergeant Duncan as my second. You’ll soon learn we’ve been dubbed the Sycamore Platoon.”
She should have had her notepad at the ready, but she tucked away the names and numbers to record as soon as she could. “The Sycamore Platoon? Why is that?”
“A long story, Miss Winnow. And one I’d like to share with you when the time’s right.”
“Very well, Lieutenant. Another question, if you don’t mind,” Iris said. “I was curious as to how a soldier is organized into their company. For instance, if a soldier is from Oath but enlists, who decides where they are to serve?”
“A good question, as we have quite a few soldiers from Oath, and Eastern Borough still has yet to declare war on Dacre and join the fight,” Lark said with a sad smile. “When someone from Oath enlists, they are added to an auxiliary company. They are still considered residents of Eastern Borough, but are added to a branch of our military, as if they were one of our own.”
Iris envisioned her brother. She wanted to ask about the whereabouts of the Second E Battalion, Fifth Landover Company, but another question emerged instead. “Is there anything we shouldn’t report on?”
Lark tilted his head to the side, as if considering. “Well, of course. No strategies, should you overhear them. No messages that we pass in the communication trenches. No locations or intel that would grant Dacre an advantage should he catch wind of the paper.” The lieutenant paused so he could open the door for Iris. A waft of air washed over them, smelling of onions and meatloaf. “I hear that you’re to be neutral reporters, but I also don’t think that’s quite possible, if I’m frank. I highly doubt you’ll be welcomed over to Dacre’s side, let alone return whole from it. I think the best piece of advice, Miss Winnow, is to write what you see happening and what you feel and who we are and why it’s vital that the people in Oath and the cities beyond join our effort. Is that something you think is possible?”
Iris paused, meeting the lieutenant’s hopeful eyes.
“Yes,” she said, in almost a whisper.
But the truth was … she felt in over her head. As if a rock were tied to her ankles and she had just been dropped into the ocean.
* * *
At five sharp, they marched.
Iris and Roman had been granted helmets and some food for their packs, and they followed the two hundred strong Dawn Company through the winding, shadowed forest road. Lark had informed them it would be a four-kilometer march at a brisk pace, utterly silent save for the sound of their boots hitting the earth, and Iris was suddenly very thankful for those early morning runs with Roman.
Her calves were burning and she was short of breath by the time the woods began to thin, the sunset spilling orange veins across the sky. The road now ran parallel to the front, with stations erected in the cover of the forest as far as she could see. The outposts were built of stones and thatch, with soldiers coming in and out of them. Communication checkpoints, perhaps?
Her thoughts were pruned short by Lark, who suddenly emerged from the river of olive-brown uniforms to speak to her and Roman again.
“We are about to enter the communication trenches here at Station Fourteen,” he explained in a low voice. “We’re still a few kilometers from the front lines, but it’s paramount that you remain low and aware of your surroundings, even if you are at rest in the allotment of ‘safe’ trenches. You’ll also notice there will be bunkers. These are reserved for attacks, whether from Dacre’s soldiers or his hounds.”