Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 9

loaded, everyone's extra ammunition was at hand. In the dressing station, doctors and their assistants carried out final preparations. There was no sign yet of the stretcher-bearers and water-carriers, though I knew that Fairview had sent orders for their arrival, after he discovered that the General had neglected this task.
    Fairview nodded, pushing back his helmet. The morning sun was growing brighter; an occasional bird flew past us, chirping brightly. Otherwise, all I could hear was the equally bright chatter of our men. "She taught me as many battle prayers as she could recall, and then she said, 'Alec my boy, the most important thing to remember is to put your affairs in good order before you go into battle. It's no use worrying about your affairs, once battle has begun. You need to do beforehand everything that needs to be done. The Fates get awfully annoyed at you if you arrive in afterdeath and tell them you've forgotten to do something. It's like leaving a stove fire going when you depart the house."
    Fairview's messenger-lad put his hand over his mouth to smother his titter. I laughed outright. "And have you followed her advice?"
    Fairview gave a quirk of a smile. "I suppose not. I've always been poor at tending to needed tasks."
    "You're not the one who needs to make that confession." I frowned as I glanced back at the right flank. All seemed in order among my soldiers; the officers, good men, had noticed the brightening light and were urging the enlisted men into position in the trenches. It occurred to me, as I looked around, that Fairview's men were already in position, as were Tice's.
    It was true enough, that Fairview and I made decisions jointly. But I had always been a bit slower than him in thinking matters through. The result of this was that, time after time, Fairview had acted first, and I had followed in his wake. It was the only flaw in our otherwise flawless friendship.
    I looked over at Fairview again, and was surprised to see that he too was frowning. "Is something on your mind?" I asked. With one hand, I indicated the scene before us.
    "The fighting, you mean? No. We've done everything we can to prepare, given our orders. It's just . . . Well, this isn't the place to talk about it, I suppose. Big ears." He looked over at Davey, who had been leaning in to listen. The lad blushed and ducked his head. Fairview laughed and patted him on the shoulder.
    "Sir!" It was Branchwater, Fairview's second-in-command. "The mist is lifting!"
    Fairview and I rose to our feet. Everywhere, despite the orders to entrench, men were standing up, trying to peer through the pale veil that was lifting as we watched. Whiteness turned to green and brown; I saw spread before us the lower ground that led to Fort Frederick. It was dotted with soldiers, many of them clustered near a creek at the foot of Spy Hill. Some of the soldiers below were already climbing.
    My eyes rose further up. To the northeast I could see a magnificent range: the highest mountains I'd spied yet in Mip. And to our left, barely six hundred yards away, was the knoll to the north of Spy Hill. Light glimmered on rifle barrels there.
    "Sweet blood," whispered Fairview. It was a prayer.
    Then came a boom from Fairview Mountain, and the creek shook. Every man on the summit fell to his stomach.
    The Mippite gunners had found us.
    CHAPTER 6
    CAN BARELY HOLD MY OWN
    Heliograph dispatch to the Commander-in-Chief at 8:30 AM, from the officer commanding the Allied forces at Spy Hill:
    "Am exposed to terrible cross-fire; can barely hold my own; water badly needed. Help us.
    Pentheusson."
    ****
    "Fifteen hundred yards: rifle-fire, coming from Fairview Mountain," said Fairview, flat on his belly with his spy-glass to his eye. "Pom-poms, also from Fairview Mountain – about twenty-five hundred yards from us. The shell guns on Fairview Mountain are about two miles away. Directly north from the knoll: machine-rifles. And that eastern ledge that's just below the summit has several dozen Mippites shooting up at us."
    Fairview, the steamer pilot, had the best eyes of anyone I knew, and the best ears too. Even so, I said, "Below us? Are you sure?"
    I had to shout; we both did. All around us came the scream of shells and the scream of men being hit by shells and rifle-fire. Fairview didn't waste words; he handed the spy-glass to me and pointed to a rock further down the slope.
    I took the spy-glass reluctantly. The news was depressing enough as it was, for the