Tcerlin looked over at Linné. “Previous regiment?”
Asya’s eyes widened. No doubt she’d run back to the rest of the Night Raiders with this news. Linné waited for her commander to come to her rescue, but Zima raised an eyebrow, as though surprised by her impertinent silence. Why was she bringing her into this? “Yes, sir,” she said, hoping she sounded confident and not arrogant or nervous.
“I wouldn’t mind seeing your skills,” Tcerlin said.
“It would be an honor, sir,” she said, though she suspected he’d rather like her to prove her incompetence.
“What do you say, miss?” said Tcerlin. “Is war women’s work?”
She fought to keep her face free of the disgust that her father had so often shown when speaking of Tcerlin in private. “War is everyone’s work, sir, as long as the Elda are still here.”
His mouth split open and a laugh rumbled out. “Spirited,” he said. “Very spirited. Are all your recruits like this one?”
“All the girls are enthusiastic, but Linné was so keen to go to war that she dressed as a boy and enlisted in the Thirty-First Night Guards before she joined us.”
Anger twisted in her gut. So this was Zima rolling out her grand battle plan. Linné had thought she wanted help, but she had Asya for that. Linné was no more than a prop for her political statements. Tossed to Tcerlin like a scrap, no matter what Linné thought about it. No matter what situation her father would be in because of this.
Tcerlin pushed back from the desk and approached her. She forced herself not to retreat. She’d only run into the wall, anyway. But he loomed a lot taller than she remembered, for all that she was the one who’d grown. As he came closer, she caught derangement in his eyes, a look that came from fear and power and the constant pressure of no right decision to be made. And in that moment, she had a flash of sympathy for her father, as much as she didn’t want it.
“What is your name?” Tcerlin said.
“Linné Alexei Zolonov.”
His eyes unfocused as he sought to remember her. “Alexei’s girl?”
“Yes, sir.”
In a split second, the derangement was gone. Tcerlin threw back his head and laughed as though it were a joke better than any he’d heard before. He clapped her on the shoulder with a force that nearly sent her to her knees. “Did you know your father says you’re at a fancy school? He told me last week what an accomplished young lady you’ve become.”
Linné spoke before she considered the wisdom of her words. “The greatest accomplishment of any lady is to give her life for her homeland.”
Tcerlin laughed even harder. Linné couldn’t find it in herself to laugh with him. She’d defied her father, but that didn’t mean she wanted to give Tcerlin any power over him.
When Tcerlin’s laughter subsided enough for him to speak, he grabbed her hand and pumped it up and down. “Your spirit is noble,” he said. “I shall tell your father that you are doing well, and that he must be proud of you.”
She doubted he’d say it in those exact words. “Thank you, sir.” Was her father proud of her? Angry? Too shocked to be either? What does it matter? I’d need a medal before he acknowledged it. Definitive proof that she belonged.
“So, are you convinced?” Zima said, standing as Tcerlin returned to the desk.
“My dear, charming lady, you’ve already convinced Isaak. I was merely here to oversee the arrival of the planes.”
Linné had expected the planes to roar in, a declaration to the world that a new weapon of war was here to stay. She was surprised to find them on the field when she accompanied Tcerlin and Commander Zima out after dinner. Enormous flat-backed palanquins made their pendulous way off the base, assisted by drivers who powered the machines with their spark.
The arrival of the planes had drawn a crowd. Both girls and boys clustered, for once heedless of one another, craning to get a good look at them. They were covered in canvas sheets.
Colonel Hesovec came out to see the affair, and his chest puffed as he recognized Tcerlin. He brushed past Zima and strode forward, hand outstretched. “General, it is an honor—”
Tcerlin grabbed Hesovec’s wrist and pumped his arm up and down a single time. “Pleasure,” he said, and moved along.
Linné bit her lip so hard that it bled as she passed Hesovec. He couldn’t see her smirk.
They stopped on the edge of the field, and at Tcerlin’s instruction, two men jogged out to the nearest plane and tugged at the canvas covering until it fell away.
The plane sat low to the ground, propped up by two claws. It was perhaps two or three times as long as Linné was tall, with a fat body of wood and canvas and wide double wings lined with living metal. The open cockpit revealed two seats and a tangle of steel mesh barely protected by the windscreen. This was their response to the monstrous power of the Dragons?
Zima walked up to the plane and crossed her arms. Tcerlin followed her, motioning for Linné to stay put.
“Is this our temporary consignment?” Zima said.
“They’re your permanent consignment,” Tcerlin said.
“Impossible.” Her smile mirrored Tcerlin’s but pulled at the edges of her face. “Strekozy were designed to carry seeds, not firepower.”
“They are the aircraft we have available,” Tcerlin replied.
“You said yourself you’d never let your daughter fly in one.”
“I wouldn’t,” said Tcerlin.
“Then get us others.”
“There are no others.”
Zima stepped close to him and her smile disappeared. Linné strained to hear her. “Paper planes,” she said. “That’s what the Elda call them. The Dragons and Skyhorses can send them to the ground with one hit. You can’t expect a crop duster to take down a Dragon. The Elda designed them, and they don’t even want them in service. I can’t imagine that Isaak—”
“They’re the only planes available. If you want something else, you’ll have to sign up for it. And you won’t be pushed to the top of the list because you’re Isaak’s…” He paused, lip curling. “Good friend.”
For a moment Linné thought Zima might hit Tcerlin. She squared off against him, shoulders wide and arms away from her body, making her seem a little bigger against his massive frame. Her anger was a heat that threatened to burn anyone who stepped too close. It was the same anger Linné had felt when Colonel Koslen had sent her here. No right choice, no way to win.
Colonel Hesovec chose that moment to approach again, chest puffed like a pigeon’s.
“Yes, my good man?” Tcerlin snapped.
Hesovec was brave in his persistence. Linné gave him that. “I couldn’t help but overhear. Is there some issue?”
Zima continued as though she hadn’t heard him. “You can’t condemn my girls to die this way. There must be something better.”
“Did you truly think that each of your pilots should have a plane like yours?” Tcerlin said. “They’re soldiers. Isn’t that what you wanted to show me? They get what we can spare. And it’s lucky that we have enough Strekozy on hand.”