Soldier of Fortune

Even Further Back in the Day

Fort Molina

Eastern Allianza Border

October 17, 1492 After Landing

Wet snow pattered over the remains of the still-smoking fort, misting the air and, hopefully, masking the sounds of the Celia Rand’s squeal as the soldier Gideon had just killed dropped to the muddy ground.

While the majority of Gideon’s company were off-base, guarding their transpo, Gideon, Nbo, and Eitan had split up in search of Msr Rand, the better to avoid the scatter of enemy soldiers patrolling the decimated fort.

Which, in itself Gideon thought odd.

Why bother taking the fort and then leaving it with only the barest guard?

A wet splat of snow slid down Gideon’s neck, reminding him he could worry about the enemy’s motivations later.

Right now he had to get Msr Rand—and her bright red coat— out of sight.

While wet snow steamed from body of the fallen Midasian, Gideon dragged the sputtering woman into the wreckage of Fort Molina’s mess hall.

His right arm was burned and bleeding, his rifle was slagged, and his knife was lodged in the throat of that unfortunate Midasian corpsman.

“Do you mind?” Msr Rand hissed, whipping her arm free of his grip.

“You’re welcome,” he muttered, ignoring the burning in his arm as he assessed the damage to his rifle.

Deciding it was best used as a club at this point, he positioned himself next to a blasted-out gap in the wall and listened for sounds of any further enemy activity.

A soft shuffle of fabric had him turning to find her whipping off her scarf, which she proceeded to wrap around his wound. “Stay back,” he whispered. “Anyone sees a hint of that coat, we’re done.”

“What’s wrong with my coat?” she whispered back, tightening the knot, hard.

Gideon gritted his teeth. “Nothing, except it’s visible it from a few hundred meters.”

“No one would have had the chance to see my coat if you hadn’t wasted so much time searching that officer you killed.” Her words were barely more than a breath tickling his ears.

Gideon inhaled a breath of her perfume and exhaled it slowly, suddenly hyper-aware of the woman at his side. “The search was S.O.P.—standard operating procedure,” he muttered, automatically checking the haversack in which he’d stowed the dispatches he’d taken from the dead major.

She said nothing for a moment, the only sounds the soft spat of wet snow, some of it falling on Gideon’s shoulders as there wasn’t much roof left in the mess.

“Of course,” she murmured at last, then added a barely audible, “I’m sorry.”

The words were short, quiet, and tugged at Gideon in a way they had no right to. In a way, in fact, that had him turning to see her deep brown eyes filling with tears. He suddenly realized that, wife of a general or no, this woman had been through an ordeal.

They were alone in the cold ruins, hiding from the Coalition forces who had decimated the stronghold. He could, all too clearly, imagine the terror of two days on her own before the shock of being discovered by that Midasian major, followed by the thrill of relief—and something more profound than relief—when Gideon arrived, knife in hand, to save her.

“You’ll be all right,” he said, clearing his throat as she pressed close, trembling against him, snow melting on the midnight of her hair. “I promise, you’re going to get out of here.”

“I believe—” she began but stopped as the crunch footsteps in icy mud cut through the constant plop of wet snow.

Gideon moved her against the wall, pressing her back and holding a finger to his lips. She nodded, eyes wide, her pulse fluttering visibly as her lips parted.

For a mad second, Gideon was tempted to take those lips—and anything else on offer.

Cursing inwardly, he eased away, leaving the woman to follow along with the footsteps on the other side of the wall, rifle held ready to strike.

He paused next to the opening as the footsteps came to a halt near the open frame of what had been the door. He held his breath, preparing to engage whatever came through that opening.

Which meant he wasn’t prepared for the Midasian soldier who burst through the gap in the wall between Gideon and Celia Rand.

Spinning, he found himself face to face with a fully charged crysto-plas rifle.

Shit, he thought, but when the blast came, it wasn’t Gideon who fell but the Midasian.

And as the man dropped to his knees, he saw Celia, both hands gripping possibly the smallest shooter he’d ever seen.

“Sir?” Nbo’s voice had Gideon spinning again, this time to see his sergeant leaning through the opening. “Ready to go?”

He stared, then shook his head, then turned and crossed to where Celia still stood, staring down at the man she’d killed. “It’s okay,” he said, lowering the weapon, useless as it was.

Then she looked up at him, her expression cold as the snow falling outside. “Are we leaving now?”