Earth Afire (The First Formic War)

the tools for it. He gathered up the white parachute and rolled the pilot into it, wrapping him tight like a mummy. It wasn’t a proper burial, but it was the best Mazer could do given the circumstances.
    He hefted the pack onto his shoulders and headed south again. He hadn’t gone far when he heard someone shouting his name. The cries were faint at first, like distant whispers on the wind—so quiet in fact that he initially dismissed them as his imagination. Then a distinct shout of “Mazer!” cut through the quiet, and there was no mistaking it. Mazer turned and ran east toward the source of the sound. He knew that voice. And he sensed the terror and desperation behind it.
    His training had taught him stealth and caution and quiet, but Mazer couldn’t help himself. He tore off the gas mask and shouted back. “Bingwen!”
    They continued shouting each other’s names until they found one another moments later. Mazer rounded a ridge and there was Bingwen, running toward him, desperate and dirty, his face streaked with tears. He collapsed into Mazer’s arms, exhausted and terrified and too upset to speak.
    Mazer carried him to some shade where they’d be hidden from sight and opened the canteen for him. At first Bingwen’s breathing was so heavy he couldn’t drink, but then he forced himself to calm enough to swallow gulps of water.
    “Not too fast,” said Mazer. “You’ll make yourself sick.”
    Bingwen lowered the canteen and began to cry anew. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse from shouting for hours on end. “They’re dead. The family. All of them. A transport dropped right in front of us. It didn’t make a sound. One instant it wasn’t there, the next instant it was. Kwong, the father, he shouted for me to run. He and Genji each tried to carry a child, but…” He closed his eyes and shook his head, unable to go on.
    Mazer took him into his arms, and Bingwen began to sob, his little body shaking with grief and terror and perhaps a dozen other pent-up emotions all flooding out of him at once.
    Mazer held him, his arms wrapped around Bingwen in a protective embrace. He wasn’t going to lie. He wasn’t going to tell Bingwen that he was safe now and that Mazer wouldn’t let anything happen to him. Bingwen was too smart for that. So Mazer let him have his cry and made no effort to stop the tears.
    When Bingwen calmed again, Mazer opened one of the MREs and watched as Bingwen ate it. “We’ll rest here until nightfall,” said Mazer. “Then, when it’s full dark, we’ll move north again.”
    “No,” Bingwen said quickly. “We’re not going north. We’re going south.”
    “I’m not taking you to the lander, Bingwen.”
    “Why not? Because I’m a child?”
    “Well, yes. It’s dangerous.”
    “It’s dangerous everywhere. It was dangerous at the farmhouse. It was dangerous in my village. It’s dangerous in the north. Nowhere is safe. We might as well push on. We’re here. It can’t be much farther.”
    Mazer shook his head. “We’ve been over this, Bingwen.”
    “Yes, we have. You’re not my father. I’m not your son. That means you can’t command me where to go.”
    “If you come with me, you put me in more danger. I’d be watching out for you and not giving the threats around me the full attention they deserve. Plus you’d slow me down.”
    “I’m not as helpless as you think,” said Bingwen. “I can help. I’m slower, yes, but two sets of eyes are better than one. I can watch our rear. I can carry supplies. I’m not useless. I’m an asset not a liability.”
    “I don’t doubt your abilities, Bingwen, but we’re not going on a day hike here. This is war. I’m a trained soldier. You’re not.”
    “I’m just as capable of killing Formics as you are.”
    “Oh really?”
    “Yes, really.” He gestured to Mazer’s sidearm. “How much strength does it take it pull that trigger? I think I can manage.”
    “Firing a weapon is more involved than that.”
    “So teach me how.”
    “No. Children don’t fight wars.”
    “Really? Says who? Is there some child rulebook I don’t know about, because I’m pretty sure I’ve been fighting wars my whole life.”
    “These are killers, Bingwen. Not village bullies.”
    “What’s the difference?”
    “A world of difference. Village bullies don’t melt your face off.” He regretted saying it as soon as the words had come out. Bingwen had witnessed such things.
    Mazer sighed and leaned back against one of the