Carter Micah was treading water, his carbine in a waterproof bag slung across his back, with four men on either side. In the heavy dawn mists that clung like a blanket to the surface of Green Jade Summit Lake, Carter could scarcely see the others, much less the opposite shore. Overhead he could see the last stars twinkling as the sky gradually lightened, the rising sun still hidden by clouds to the east.

Most of Blue Team was “dead,” tagged with paint cartridges during the first two days of the maneuver and removed from the field by referees. Only Carter’s squad was still in play, twelve men altogether. If they were captured or hit, the maneuvers would be at an end, and Red Team would have won the mock combat exercises.

Carter wasn’t prepared to let that happen.

They had spotted Red Team’s bivouac, late the day before as the sunlight faded in the west, on the opposite shore of the lake. Using a remote-viewing mirror and keeping concealed behind the tree line, Carter had been able to confirm that the enemy had their flag under guard. The Red Team had faired somewhat better in the first days of the ninety-six-hour field exercises, taking comparatively fewer “casualties,” and nearly a full platoon was in evidence, more than two dozen men, with the red armbands around their biceps visible even from that distance.

Carter hadn’t asked to be tapped as squad leader, when the team started out on the six-hour hike from Peaceful Hill, but he figured that so long as he followed orders and kept his head down, he’d at least have a good chance of not embarrassing himself. Now, he was somehow in charge of all that remained of Blue Team, and their only chance of victory.

In the dying light of day, they’d assessed the enemy’s strength and position. Red Team appeared to have set up a picket to guard the approaches, with men positioned to the east and the west along the shoreline, and in a long arc to the north watching the mountainside. The few men not on post had sacked out on the ground near the tree from which the red banner hung, their weapons close at hand.

Somewhere in the woods hidden referees watched, noting each team’s progress. Carter half-hoped that they’d be mauled by the black bears who made this forest their home. Maybe then they’d all just be able to go home, and neither side the winners or losers. But that wasn’t likely to happen.

If neither team captured the other’s flag, then the team with the most “kills” would be declared the victors, and Red Team was certain to win. Blue Team’s only real chance at victory lay in capturing the red banner.

The squad had gathered in the woods on the lake’s southern edge, hidden from view, around the blue banner tied to a lower branch of a towering Nipponese maple.

“There are fewer men on the eastern approach,” said Ears, his voice hushed and rasping. “We should circle the lake and attack from that direction.”

“No,” said Moonface, shaking his head. “Didn’t you see the field of interlocking fire they’ve set up? Even if there are fewer men, they’re better positioned. The wiser choice is from the west.”

“We should circle and come down from the north,” said Spitter, saliva flecking the corners of his mouth as he lisped. “We can use the trees for cover and pick them off.” He slapped the trunk of the Nipponese maple.

The others debated, as though they were led by consensus, more of them agreeing with Spitter than with either of the other two, finding the notion of something to hide behind while attacking an attractive one.

But they were not led by consensus, Carter knew. The decision was his.

“No,” he said, shaking his head with a note of finality. “They’ve had too much time to get entrenched on all three sides. And even if we did manage to pick off the men in front, they’ve got more in reserve to send up from the rear. If… if we had enough men, we could come at them from two fronts, try to divide their attentions and their reserves, but we don’t have that luxury.” He gestured at the bare dozen of them seated around the blue banner.

“Then what do you suggest?” asked Spitter with condescension.

Carter and the Rossiyan had never got on, not since the young Tejan had managed to throw the Rossiyan three falls out of four in hand-to-hand combat. Carter hadn’t put any stock in the matter, but the lisping Rossiyan seemed to take his martial prowess very, very seriously, and never forgave Carter for the perceived slight.

That was alright with Carter, though. He didn’t much like him, either.

“I’m not suggesting anything,” Carter said, his jaw set. “I’m in command of the squad, so anything I’ve got to say is more along the lines of an order.” He paused for a moment to let that sink in. “And it’s that we should attack them from the south, instead, where there’s a gap in their defenses.”

The others exchanged looks, their expressions clearly baffled even in the gloaming.

“Across the lake,” Carter clarified.

In the grey twilight, their opinions were plainly visible.

“Look,” he said, drawing with his finger in the dirt at their feet. “They’re treating the water like it’s a brick wall. They’ve got their forces spread out in a wide arc from the east to the west, but they’ve hardly got anybody facing the lakeside at all.” Moonface shook his head. “Why should they? Do you have any idea how cold that lake is, this time of year?”

“No, do you?”

Moonface nodded, slowly. “It’s cold.”

“And deep, too, as the joke goes,” Carter replied. A couple of the others who’d heard the joke of the two men urinating off a bridge chuckled. “But it’s the only way I see this working. Now, we’ve got our rain gear, and should be able to rig up watertight bags. The way I figure, we leave a small detachment here to guard the banner, and the rest of us go swimming.”

Ears whistled, low. “It is going to be cold, my friend.”

Carter nodded. “I figure it will, at that. But if we win these exercises we get a two-day furlough in the town, and I don’t know about you fellows, but I can think of a few ways I’d like to get warm down there.”

Smiles and nods rippled around the circle. There were still some dissenters, clearly, but they knew better than to challenge to chain of command.

“Alright, then, any questions?” Hearing none, Carter clapped his hands lightly together, and rose to his feet. “In that case, let’s get started. We’re wasting darkness.”

It had taken much of the night to get their gear together and ready for the water crossing. By the time they were done, they’d converted nine of their rain panchos into waterproof bags, and in each secured a string of smoke-bombs, rolls of paint cartridges, and their carbines. Carter selected three of the squad to stay behind and guard the blue banner, choosing those who’d scored highest in marksmanship on the Known-Distance Range the week before. Moonface, who had no desire to go swimming, objected that he’d have done better on the range, but that he’d been distracted when zeroing his rifle by Spitter’s farting next to him. The Rossiyan, in response, lifted one leg and let off a peal of flatulence, and Carter figured that was as good an answer to him as any. Carter might not have liked Spitter all that much, but he had to hand it to him: the Rossiyan did know how to fart. It was likely all of the beets he ate.

Then they were down to the water’s edge, across the green grass which led almost to the waterline, moving doubled low to the ground. The moon shone overhead, so that out in the open the world was painted in a monochromatic gray, more twilit than dark, but Carter could only hope that the Red Team’s attentions were elsewhere. The nine of them slid into the crystal-clear waters as quietly as they were able, and then keeping all but their heads submerged, with only their noses, eyes, ears, and hair visible, they began to dog-paddle their way across to the north shore.

They were more than halfway across the lake when the sun began to pink the sky to the east. Carter hadn’t counted on the dawn mists, but as the rays of the rising sun warmed the air above the water, they created a fog that hugged the lake’s surface like a veil. Obscured by the mist, they had less chance of being spotted, and so they had simply to avoid being heard. Considering that the ducks who made the lake their home in spring had already migrated long before, if Carter and the others could keep from splashing, and assuming that the grass carp who swam beneath them didn’t begin to raise a ruckus, which hardly seemed likely, they just might be able to pull this off.

Then, of course, they’d reached the lake’s north shore, and everything that could have gone wrong, did.

They’d crouched in the shallows at the water’s edge, as planned, opening their waterproof bags and slipping out their carbines and cartridges and belts of smoke-grenades. Rising up out of the mists like specters, they appeared not to have been spotted yet by any of Red Team.

Then came the thundering sound of flatulence to Carter’s left.

The Red Team was immediately on the alert, heads snapping around and men jumping to their feet, reaching for their paint-loaded carbines.

“Damn it, Spitter!” Carter heard one of the others curse.

Carter saw no reason to delay. Their only chance now lay in fast action.

Lobbing a smoke grenade overhand, he raised his carbine to his shoulder and began firing, sending paint-cartridges whizzing through the air, and shouted, “Charge!”

The Blue Team had the element of surprise, but only barely, and the Red Team was quickly getting their bearings. As it was, Ears and Moonface both went down before they’d taken three steps from the water’s edge, both of them incarnadine with red paint splatters up and down their chests. Spitter made it a bit further up the shore, until his chest was painted a red to match the embarrassed blush on his cheeks.

Carter was halfway to the tree from which the red banner hung, sure that he would be caught by enemy fire any moment, when all of the rules suddenly changed.

“Bear!” shouted one of the Red Team members, running from the tree line as though his hair was on fire and bees infested his ears. “Bear!”

The creature lumbered out of the woods, rearing up on his hind legs, a bright blue splotch of paint staining one side of his head. He was not much taller than any of the men present, but outweighed the heaviest of them, and besides, none of the men had paws ending in wicked claws, or a snout full of viciously-sharp teeth. Apparently an errant shot from one of the Blue Team carbines had pegged one of the bears native to these woods, who’d been walking through the forest, minding his morning business. Enraged, and likely half-blinded by paint, he had bellowed in anger and roared into the bivouac.

The Red Team was immediately thrown into chaos, like school-children running from a skunk.

Carter, for his part, was already resigned to “die,” having run headlong into enemy fire, and it didn’t even occur to him for the moment to be afraid of this new threat. He was focused on one thing, and that only: the red banner, and the victory it represented.

While the others ran in all directions, both the Red Team and the scattered remains of his Blue Team squad, Carter simply snatched the red banner down from the tree, spun on his heel, and pounded back toward the water’s edge. Carbine and smoke-bombs he discarded on the soft grasses, and with the red flag clenched in his hand he dove back into the waters, beating for the other side.

He was halfway across before he stopped to realize that while the red paint cartridges of the enemy could do little worse than sting and bruise and cost him a weekend’s furlough, the claws and teeth of the bear were likely to have done considerably more damage.

When he climbed out on the south shore, half-frozen and exhausted, he was met by a pair of referees and the three surviving members of Blue Team.

“Congratulations, recruit,” one of the referees said, checking off a box on a clipboard. “Blue Team is victorious.”

---

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: Hexagram 9
Lesser Domestication
Below Heaven Above Wind
Wind moves through the Heavens. In the same way, the noble man cultivates his civil virtues.

NEXT CHAPTER: Hexagram 11
Peace
Below Heaven Above Earth
Heaven and Earth perfectly interact. In the same way, the ruler, by his tailoring, fulfills the Dao of Heaven and Earth and assists Heaven and Earth to stay on the right course; in so doing, he assists the people on all sides.

Return to Index.

Chapter 10 of Three Unbroken by Chris Roberson. Copyright © 2007 Monkeybrain, Inc. For more action from the Celestial Empire don't miss The Dragon's Nine Sons.

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