Civil War 01

The Queen was a damned bitch to raise all her daughters equally. It's said they moved in the same high level of circles, clearly they cultivated strong alliances, and when their fool mother died with the wish they rule together those years of politicking made Afrya hell for the rest of us.

I flinch as the crack of a rifle echoes around the grounds of the temple near Chonnet, slipping from the crumbling building and crouching behind a weathered gravestone. The pistol in my hand feels heavy, it's been a while since I last used it, and I cautiously lean out. There's the roar of an entire volley, the noise rolls over the graveyard like thunder, and the first people scurry through the archway in the low stone wall that surrounds the temple grounds. In the twilight I can just make out the colour of their coats, the blue of the Adelines, and glance at the archway in time to see the undyed woollen coats of the Militia, that rabble whose members fight only for their own communities.

The first Militia-woman crumples as she incautiously passes through the archway, any cry lost beneath the pair of shots that kills her. From my shelter I can see heads bobbing as the other whitecoats take up positions against the wall, see the bluecoats try and spread out to match. I've been squatting at the temple for about a month, it was already abandoned when I found it, and I'd hoped the civil war had moved on from this region. Guess not then. As one the Chonnet Militia-women all rise to their feet, some firing off shots that keep the Adelines pinned while others vault over the wall. The bluecoats try responding with a ragged volley, a few whitecoats stumble and fall bonelessly but most of them find cover.

I begin inching back towards the temple as the Militia-women continue advancing. It's the only place that might offer safety for the outnumbered bluecoats and I'm not going to surrender my adopted home to anyone without a fight. I glance at the rolled-up coat, its original brilliant red dye now faded, that my head had only recently been resting on as I enter the temple. It had been thrust upon me at the start of the war, my noble lady had supported the late Queen's firstborn and conscripted as many as was possible for her cause.

The noise of battle drifts into the temple, sounds louder. Hidden beneath my blouse my breasts heave as I hear boots scuffing on stone, I spin and point my pistol at the entrance. A scared young woman in an unbuttoned blue coat appears, doubling over when I put a bullet in her bare belly before dropping to be an untidy heap. I hastily reload, sliding in a cartridge and snapping shut the pistol, before crossing to where my coat lay. The rest of my military gear, a half-empty backpack and a rifle, sit on the remains of a nearby pew and I gear up, for a moment resembling the soldier I'd once been. I pull my second pistol from its holster as more footsteps become audible, skulking towards the dead Adeline, and press myself into the shadow of the entrance.

A third volley cuts through the silence, in its aftermath the approaching footsteps seem to multiply. The bluecoats' nerves have broken, those still standing rushing for the temple. In her haste the first seems to overlook the body of her fallen comrade, my shot plunges between her shoulder blades and throws her down. Another frightened bluecoat skids to a confused halt as she witnesses the death, a bullet to the brow snaps her head back and she slumps like a puppet whose strings were cut. I reload both pistols, the clicks as the barrels are snapped back into place seems to echo, but no more Adelines enter the temple. I can hear their voices, hear the terror, and then the clatter of weapons being dropped. Shaking my head at the naivety I sidle back from the entrance, ears straining to hear any words coming from the Militia-women.

Pleas for mercy reach my ears, growing more frenzied with each second, and I can picture the whitecoats outside organizing themselves into proper firing lines. It was how my company met its end, locals ambushed us in the wake of a battle with some Claires and coldly executed as many as they caught. A final volley of rifle-fire brings me back to the present and I tighten the grip I have on my pistols with impotent anger. I have no love for Adelines but they still deserved better. My heart skips a beat as booted feet slap against rock, a slim Militia-woman holding a lantern steps into the temple and I hear her sniff in disdain upon seeing my victims.

"Some of the bitches in here too! Might be more."

"Just get their ammo and weapons. Then meet us in the inn to celebrate!"

That shouted response is followed by a great cheer from outside and the whitecoat kneels, reaching out to grab for the ammunition boxes at each slain bluecoat's waist.

I'm torn on what to do. If Chonnet's villagers know this is where I live they haven't done anything about it and I can't say I have a particular dislike of them. As the Militia-woman rises to approach my second victim, the furthest inside the temple, I can see her pause though, the rough circle of blackened stone I use as a firepit becoming visible. She tenses, clutches the lantern a bit tighter, and starts peering into the shadows. She slowly begins turning, it occurs to her only now to check the wounds on the bodies she's looting, and I bring up a pistol, have it aimed at her by the time she's looking at me.

"You have a choice girl. Stay quiet and live or shout out and I'll put a bullet in you."

Her eyes widen as I speak, her gaze flicks briefly towards the entrance. My heart is hammering inside my chest as time seems to slow but when the whitecoat takes a step back, sucking in a breath so she can shout, I'm quick to pull the trigger. My shot punches through her coat, goes deep into her flesh, and hurls her from her feet. The glass of the lantern shatters when it hits the temple floor, the candle snuffed out as easily as the whitecoat, but I still cringe as everything outside the temple goes quiet.

A group of Militia-women come in, sleek and feral animals in human form. I shiver as I sense them past and swap my pistols for the more powerful rifle, bringing it to my shoulder. Part of me wants to just hide until the Militia get bored but the death of one of their own has pricked their pride, made them vengeful. The rifle roars when I finally pull the trigger, the last woman to pass me lets out a shrill wail as she's struck, and I let the long-barrelled firearm drop, pulling out both pistols again. The other whitecoats spin and fire, shards of stone are blasted from the temple wall, but I've already moved. I scuttle from one pillar to another as the whitecoats try to find me and I finally pause as more lanterns are bought in

There don't appear to be many of the Militia-women and I briefly contemplate the idea that the rest are out surrounding the temple. They're a moody bunch though, giving voice to all manner of complaints, and their moaning fills me with confidence that we're alone. Snatching up a rock I throw it, hear it clatter and watch the whitecoats react by all turning towards the noise. I ghost out from cover, firing both pistols, and then dive into the shadow of a pillar, press myself against it while reloading.

"Come out blue bitch!"

I don't have the desire to identify myself, I doubt it would matter now anyway, and risk a quick glance. Two more whitecoats are down, both limply draped over the same pew, and the remaining four others are clustered within the ring of lanterns.

Their leader is easy to spot, she holds a pistol instead of a rifle and her coat has sergeant's insignia crudely sewn on, the factional colour of their original owner still visible around the chevrons. I duck just as she fires, her shot carving a groove in the pillar, and reload while straining to hear any movement. A whitecoat swings around another pillar, an impish grin on her face, but I shoot and she flops onto her back, her blood splashing against the stone behind her. I creep nearer the dead woman, swivelling when a Militia-woman tries attacking where I had been. Her bayonet goes through thin air and puts her off-balance, my response splatters the thoughts behind her pretty eyes upon the pillar. I have to dive for the rifle in front of me as a third whitecoat, the last of the regulars, comes into view, she gasps as I shove the weapon's stock into her stomach and totters back.

I let out a grunt as I flip the rifle, the whitecoat squeals as its bayonet sinks between her breasts before sagging and tugging the rifle from my grip. I'm panting with exhilarated exhaustion, the spark of life dancing in my eyes, and turn as the sound of a pistol being cocked reaches me. The sergeant has her gun pointing at me, I stare along its length at her hardened gaze, and as it did with the first whitecoat time seems to slow. The twenty years of my life flash before me as I stare into the dark barrel even as my mind works to find a way out. The sergeant tightens her finger, I can see the pistol's trigger being pulled, and I hurriedly crouch, reaching for the rifle. The whitecoat's bullet zips just overhead as I wrench the bayonet from its fleshy sheath, levelling the rifle at the sergeant and pulling its trigger. She tumbles backward, a spray of blood flying through the air, and she trips on a shapely corpse, ending up sprawled atop her fellow Militia-woman as I rise to my feet.