Previously
Henrietta becomes popular among the soldiers by writing their love letters, while Priest Ronda worries about her lack of family contact. Bored on the weekend, Kalinin decides to visit Billy but finds Henrietta drying Rondanis flowers on the marble floor of his carriage garage.
“Honestly, that’s just a bit much.”
Having dropped by another man’s home under the guise of a housewarming visit only to brood in silence, the Division Commander suddenly broke the quiet. Billy asked the obvious question.
“What is, sir?”
“The rulebook. Wouldn’t it look a bit pathetic to spell out that one mustn’t dry flowers in the carriage garage?”
The rulebook, a carriage, and flowers. Billy knew all too well who was capable of bundling such an incongruous assortment together.
“Well, if you start making rules like that, the list would be endless. You’d have to write that tea tables are forbidden in the barracks, teapots and teacups are banned, and slippers are strictly out of the question.”
“That’s awfully specific. Don’t tell me those are already…”
“Yes, sir. All purchased in Heresruen by Private Matyas. It looked like she was strong-armed into buying them secondhand for cheap.”
Just as a rulebook, a carriage, and flowers had no business being grouped together, neither did a barracks, a tea table, and slippers. Kalinin pressed a hand over his mouth and groaned.
“Why didn’t you report this to me?”
“Because I’ve given up.”
“What?”
“My vessel is simply too small to contain Private Matyas. Or perhaps she is too grand a soldier for our Krakow Army to hold.”
Billy offered a serene smile. In giving up on Private Matyas, he seemed to have given up on his sanity as well.
“So your plan is to sit back and watch my carriage garage turn into a Rondanis flower drying facility?”
The Division Commander rebuked him sharply, demanding a solution. Yet Billy did not miss the twitch at the corner of his lips, as though he were fighting back amusement.
“If you ask me, sir, I think we can just leave her be.”
“And why is that?”
“Because the Stampede season is almost upon us. The private will learn soon enough.”
All traces of amusement vanished from the Division Commander’s face.
Both men turned toward the window in unison. The summer heat was finally beginning to break.
“Right…”
Autumn was coming.
***
The humidity had drained from the air. A sudden drop in the perceived temperature and the retreat of the once-rampant weeds signaled the arrival of autumn.
The weekend had arrived, but the entire unit was on standby. Starting this week, all outings, overnight passes, and leaves were forbidden. Non-combat personnel were exempt from standard duties, so Henrietta remained in the barracks instead of heading to the chapel. Every soldier accepted this as a matter of course.
That neither the Division Commander nor Captain Billy had been seen for days meant only one thing: the Stampede would begin shortly.
Henrietta could feel the heavy, unfamiliar tension coursing through the Krakow Army right down to her skin.
“Look at this guy! You have a mole here? Check this out, Theodore! PFC Miller has a mole right on his ear! Bahaha!”
Corporal Dudery, who had been cleaning PFC Miller’s ear, made an absurd fuss as though he had just stumbled upon some grand discovery.
“Huh? It really is there! Bwahaha! A mole on his ear of all places! Pfft, haha!”
“I had a mole on my ear? I didn’t even know! Wow, hahahaha!”
They burst into uproarious laughter over the silliest nonsense, but beneath their mirth lay a clear current of anxiety.
“Private Matyas! Come look at this. A mole on his ear! Isn’t that hilarious?”
Henrietta was determined to keep her own wits about her.
“It is not funny.”
At that, the bizarre laughter cut off instantly, and everyone slunk back to their spots looking sheepish. Before long, however, they were casting about for another victim to hunt for a laugh.
“Hey, dead weight, do you really think you can survive this Stampede looking like that?”
It seemed Henrietta was the target this time. Had Corporal Dudery’s sneering posture been even slightly less graceful, the barb might have actually landed.
Taunts were meant to be delivered slouched to one side, leaning crookedly with an arrogant swagger, but Corporal Dudery hadn’t struck that kind of pose in a while.
And it wasn’t just him. Everyone was sitting with leisurely poise, each holding a teacup filled with crimson tea in one hand.
The barracks was already fragrant with the scent of flowers rather than its usual grime. The truly frightening part was that everyone had grown completely accustomed to it.
“I was told ordinary infantry like myself aren’t drafted for combat.”
Henrietta replied with the poised elegance of a model noblewoman, taking a delicate sip of her flower tea.
“That’s the rule on paper. But unexpected things always happen. If you ask me, an Elek would cut you down in a single second.”
“Why would you say that? I’ve put on some muscle. Besides, I can run faster than you, Corporal.”
“Are you declaring your intent to desert mid-battle? Huh?”
“Is running back to the base considered desertion? And please, take a look at this. What do you think of my forearms? It’s all thanks to the book ’10 Minutes a Day, One Month Muscle Building Routine.’”
Henrietta rolled up her sleeve to show off her forearms. On the very arms that once looked as though holding a knitting needle would strain them, lean bundles of healthy, distinctly sculpted muscle were plain to see.
“Hey, I’ve got that beat without ever reading that book. Look!”
“I think I was born with more muscle than that!”
“Come to think of it, I’ve bulked up a bit myself. Hauled all those materials around to build a classroom for someone, after all.”
“Right? Didn’t we suffer under that blazing sun? Look at my rhomboids. They’re absolutely shredded.”
“So what does that mean? Private Matyas owes those forearms of hers to us!”
Laughter erupted across the room again. It wasn’t the sort meant to ridicule Henrietta, but rather the affectionate teasing one might direct at a youngest sibling.
Though there had been countless dicey moments, they had ultimately accepted Private Matyas as one of their own. Unfamiliar, peculiar, and often infuriating Private Matyas, just as she was. She wasn’t a bad sort, and while she could be annoying, she was occasionally useful, which made her alright in their book. Woven into their acceptance was also a faint touch of respect for a noblewoman who had managed to hold her own in a place like this.
Henrietta, too, seemed to have developed a sense of camaraderie; instead of bristling at their teasing, she laughed along and bantered with them without pretense.
Because of this, soldiers from other squads would occasionally step inside only to freeze in surprise and take a step back. The barracks scene looked eerily like an afternoon high tea.
Just then, Sergeant Nick, who had been sitting quietly in the corner studying the material Henrietta had translated for him, snapped his head up.
“Everyone, quiet down.”
At Nick’s grave, heavy tone, the chatter stopped dead, and everyone strained their ears.
A fleeting instant passed before the sound Nick had caught reached everyone else’s ears.
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!
It was the frantic tolling of a bell, ringing without rhythm or restraint. Sergeant Nick sprang to his feet and barked out an order.
“Grab your personal gear and put on your protective armor!”
Without a second’s hesitation, every squad member jumped up to gather their equipment. Henrietta followed suit, strapping on the thick leather protective armor over her uniform. Though she had practiced countless times, she was still slower than the others, and PFC Johnny helped her fasten it.
“Let’s move!”
“Sir!”
Seeing that everyone was ready, Sergeant Nick took the lead and guided the squad out. As they had practiced in training, the soldiers ran in tight formation as if they were a single body. Henrietta sprinted at the very rear with all her might.
Glancing back over his shoulder, Sergeant Nick shouted to her.
“Private Matyas! Head to the chapel!”
“Sir? The chapel? But that’s the rearmost line!”
“That bell means a Level 1 Crisis Situation! The wounded will be flooding the rear, so go to the chapel and assist the Priest! They’ll be short-handed right now!”
“Understood, Sergeant! Please come back safe, everyone!”
Henrietta shouted as she ran.
A pang of guilt struck her as she watched her comrades sprint in the opposite direction. Corporal Dudery, who had been laughing over utter nonsense moments ago, hadn’t uttered a single word since the dispatch order was given. A grim resolve, subduing their fear, was etched plainly on every face.
Henrietta bit her lower lip hard.
She had trained as hard as she could, yet being unable to stand beside them made her feel utterly useless once more.
It didn't take long, however, to realize that such self-pity was a luxury. From the direction of the Ear of Wheat Chapel came the agonizing sounds of weeping and screams.