Earth Afire (The First Formic War)

few remaining trees, his voice gentle. “You can’t come because I don’t want anything to happen to you, Bingwen. And because we don’t know what’s in that valley, and because in all likelihood I won’t be able to do much damage anyway.”
    “You can do recon. You can learn things, observe things, find weaknesses, see something the airplanes haven’t. Then you can take that information back to people who matter. Right now you don’t want to go back because you feel like you’ve failed. Information is a victory, Mazer. And I can help you get it.”
    Mazer said nothing.
    “I know this enemy as well as you do. Maybe even better than you do. And I certainly know the land better than you do.”
    “There isn’t much land left.”
    “No. Nor people either.” He stared at the ground a moment, picking at a rock half buried in the earth. “My parents are in that valley, Mazer. Heaped up with everything else. Maybe Grandfather too. And Hopper and Meilin. And Zihao. And everyone I’ve ever known. My life is in that valley. You’re fighting to save your world. I’m fighting because they’ve already taken my world from me. Yes, I’m young. Yes, I’m a child. No, I’m not a trained soldier. But if I’m old enough to fight to stay alive, I’m old enough to fight the war.”
    Mazer said nothing. It amazed him that Bingwen could be so young and so frail in some ways and so old and so unbreakable in others. Children are more capable than we give them credit for, he thought. Yet even so, he knew he shouldn’t take Bingwen with him. Common sense and his training told him it was a tactical mistake. Yet what could he do? Bingwen was right. They’d find danger in the north as well.
    Mazer reached into the pack and pulled out a small bedroll. He pushed the button on the side, and the pad inflated. “You’ve been running for most of the day,” said Mazer. “Get some sleep. I’ll take first watch.” He handed him the gas mask. “Put this on first.”
    “That’s for an adult.”
    “I’ll adjust the straps as far as they’ll go. It should form a seal.”
    “How am I supposed to sleep with that on? It will swallow my head.”
    “You’ll breath fine. And it will be cleaner air than what’s out here.”
    “What about you?”
    “I’ll manage.” He slipped the mask over Bingwen’s head and fiddled with the straps until the seal was good.
    “How do I look?” Bingwen asked, his voice muffled by the mask.
    “As alien as the Formics.”
    Bingwen smiled. “Perfect. It’ll be my disguise. We’ll use it to infiltrate. I’ll be the Formic, and you’ll be my weak human hostage. Works every time.”
    “Go to sleep, Bingwen.”
    Bingwen lay down on the bedroll. “You’ll be here when I get up, right? You’re not going to sneak off while I’m asleep?”
    “I won’t sneak off. You’d only find me anyway.”
    “You bet I would. I’d track you down.” Bingwen rolled over onto his side and pulled his legs up, getting into a comfortable sleep position.
    “How long had you been shouting my name before I found you?” Mazer asked.
    “A few hours.”
    “The Formics could have heard you, you know. You could have called them down right on top of you.”
    “I know. Especially since ‘Mazer’ in their language means ‘Here I am. Come kill me.’”
    “Not funny,” said Mazer.
    “I tried looking for you. It wasn’t working. If I had kept silent, I never would have found you. It knew it was a risk. I got lucky.”
    “Lucky is an understatement … But I’m glad you found me. Now close your eyes.”
    Bingwen did so. “I feel like I have a bucket on my head. This thing is pressing into my ear. I can’t sleep this way.”
    “Then don’t sleep on your side.”
    “I have to sleep on my side. That’s how I sleep.”
    Mazer shushed him. “If you’re talking, you’re not sleeping.”
    Bingwen fell silent. Soon, his breathing had slowed and he was asleep. Mazer leaned back against the tree, listening to the wind blow in from the south and rustle the wilted leaves overhead. The wind carried with it faint traces of a putrid smell—a smell Mazer hadn’t noticed in a while. He sniffed the air and grimaced. It was the scent of bodies rotting in the sun.
    He pulled his old shirt from his pack, ripped up the fabric, and tied a makeshift bandana over his mouth and nose. Then he took the sidearm from his hip and silently removed the clip. He took out the rounds and counted them. Then he reloaded the