The Heroes

anything back?’
    ‘He’s starting now.’
    ‘Guess it ain’t never too late to change, eh?’ Hardbread called something in Union, over his shoulder.
    ‘Guess not,’ muttered Craw, under his breath, though he was far from sure Dow had made that big a shift.
    A man came warily up from the south side of the bridge. He wore a Union uniform, high up by the markings but young, and fine-looking too. He nodded to Craw and Craw nodded back, then he traded a few words with Hardbread, then he looked over at the wounded starting to come across the bridge and his jaw dropped.
    Craw heard quick footsteps at his back, saw movement as he turned. ‘What the—’ He made a tardy grab for his sword, realised it wasn’t there, by which point someone had already flashed past. The girl, and straight into the young man’s arms. He caught her, and they held each other tight, and they kissed, and Craw watched with his hand still fishing at the air where his hilt usually was and his eyebrows up high.
    ‘That was unexpected,’ he said.
    Hardbread’s were no lower. ‘Maybe men and women always greet each other that way down in the Union.’
    ‘Reckon I’ll have to move down there myself.’
    Craw leaned back against the pitted parapet of the bridge. Leaned back next to Hardbread and watched those two hold each other, eyes closed, swaying gently in the light of the torch like dancers to a slow music none could hear. He was whispering something in her ear. Comfort, or relief, or love. Words foreign to Craw, no doubt, and not just on account of the language. He watched the wounded shuffling across around the couple, a spark of hope lit in their worn-out faces. Going back to their own people. Hurt, maybe, but alive. Craw had to admit, the night might’ve been coming on cold but he’d a warmth inside. Not like that rush of winning a fight, maybe, not so strong nor so fierce as the thrill of victory.
    But he reckoned it might last longer.
    ‘Feels good.’ As he watched the soldier and the girl make their wayacross the bridge to the south bank, his arm around her. ‘Making a few folk happier, in the midst o’ this. Feels damn good.’
    ‘It does.’
    ‘Makes you wonder why a man chooses to do what we do.’
    Hardbread took in a heavy breath. ‘Too coward to do aught else, maybe.’
    ‘You might be right.’ The woman and the officer faded into darkness, the last few wounded shambling after. Craw pushed himself away from the parapet and slapped the damp from his hands. ‘Right, then. Back to it, eh?’
    ‘Back to it.’
    ‘Good to see you, Hardbread.’
    ‘Likewise.’ The old warrior turned away and followed the others back towards the south side of the town. ‘Don’t get killed, eh?’ he tossed over his shoulder.
    ‘I’ll try to avoid it.’
    Shivers was waiting at the north end of the bridge, offering out Craw’s sword. The sight of his eye gleaming in his lopsided smile was enough to chase any soft feelings away sharp as a rabbit from a hunter.
    ‘You ever thought about a patch?’ asked Craw, as he took his sword and slid it through his belt.
    ‘Tried one for a bit.’ Shivers waved a finger at the mass of scar around his eye. ‘Itched like a bastard. I thought, why wear it just to make other fuckers more comfortable? If I can live with having this face, they can live with looking at it. That or they can get fucked.’
    ‘You’ve a point.’ They walked on through the gathering gloom in silence for a moment. ‘Sorry to take the job.’
    Shivers said nothing.
    ‘Leading Dow’s Carls. More’n likely you should’ve had it.’
    Shivers shrugged. ‘I ain’t greedy. I’ve seen greedy, and it’s a sure way back to the mud. I just want what’s owed. No more and no less. A little
respect.’
    ‘Don’t seem too much to ask. Anyway, I’ll only be doing it while the battle’s on, then I’m done. I daresay Dow’ll want you for his Second then.’
    ‘Maybe.’ Another stretch of silence, then Shivers turned to look at him. ‘You’re a decent man, aren’t you, Craw? Folk say so. Say you’re a straight edge. How d’you stick at it?’
    Craw didn’t feel like he’d stuck at it too well at all. ‘Just try to do the right thing, I reckon. That’s all.’
    ‘Why? I tried it. Couldn’t make it root. Couldn’t see the profit in it.’
    ‘There’s your problem. Anything good I done, and the dead know there ain’t much, I done for its own sake. Got to do it because you want to.’
    ‘It ain’t