at him. He knew that leadership was about making tough decisions, but he’d never truly understood it until he’d had to choose between orders and what he knew was right. That’s the man you fell in love with. Right, Julie? It wasn’t just about things being easy and comfortable. It wasn’t just about being a high-ranking officer’s wife?
Was it?
He knew he should be angry. Angry at the government for forcing him into this position. Angry at Ripple for dogging his heels. Angry at Julie for turning cold, for not giving him the benefit of the doubt.
But all he could muster was fatigue. All he could manage to crave was his old life. He loved his wife and children, and he missed them. There was simply nothing else.
One more fight in a string of many. He had found a way to stave off the overwhelming odds facing FOB Frontier. He would find a way to reclaim his place in the army. He would find a way to make Julie understand why he had done what he had done. He would fix this. The phone weighed heavily in his pocket. He’d put off making this call too many times. He wasn’t going to do it with a ship waiting for him to disembark. When he got back to shore, he’d grab a bench, wave everyone off, and talk for as long as it took. Ripple wouldn’t like it, but he’d figure out a way to deal with her.
He sighed and headed down the gangway. Ripple fell in behind him. He felt the disciplined eddy of her magic and pushed back on his own, instinctively reaching out to tug at her current. ‘Must be good to be on the water,’ he said. Ripple had helped him create his first boomers, water-cleaning devices that helped him make the long trek across miles of hostile territory.
‘You get sick of it after a while,’ she said. ‘Spend your life in Hydromancy, and after a while all you want to do is burn something.’
Bookbinder smiled. ‘Back at the FOB, all you wanted to do was come with me on a mission.’
Ripple looked around at the ship, the placid quay, the low buildings in the distance. Her mouth settled into a thin line. ‘Somehow, sir, this wasn’t what I had in mind.’
He laughed. ‘It’s safer.’
‘I didn’t join up to stay safe.’
The Breakwater ’s skipper had spared four sideboys, two to either side of the gangway, to salute him as the boatswain piped him aboard, calling out, ‘Now, Brigadier General Alan Bookbinder, United States Army, arriving.’ Bookbinder had been briefed to salute the flag flying from the ship’s stern, but there were no officers visible to request permission to come aboard from, so he simply returned the salutes the sideboys offered, stepped onto the main deck, and stood awkwardly until the boatswain, a chief warrant officer whose name tape read RODRIGUEZ , came over to him.
She had a face like a granite block, hair cut efficiently short, black streaked with gray. Her hard muscle and leathery skin spoke of a life at sea. ‘Commander Bonhomme is waiting for you up on the bridge, sir,’ Rodriguez said. A breach of protocol and an insult, but Bookbinder had grown used to them.
Rodriguez led them into the superstructure, up a ladder, and down a narrow passageway. The Breakwater ’s tight spaces made Bookbinder claustrophobic, the gentle rocking of the ship turning his knees watery. His appetite fled. Ripple took it in stride, also stumbling but not looking nearly as green.
He put out a hand against the bulkhead to steady himself, waving away Ripple’s support. Rodriguez turned, regarding him doubtfully. ‘You okay, sir?’
‘Fine,’ Bookbinder answered, straightening. ‘Just . . . not used to this is all.’ He felt his gorge rise and burped before he could stop himself.
Rodriguez’s eyes narrowed, with disgust or sympathy, he couldn’t tell. ‘ Breakwater ’s a stable platform, sir. It’ll get a little worse out there, but not much. I’ll ask the storekeeper if we’ve got a patch for you.’
Bookbinder wasn’t sure what a patch was, but he shook his
Was it?
He knew he should be angry. Angry at the government for forcing him into this position. Angry at Ripple for dogging his heels. Angry at Julie for turning cold, for not giving him the benefit of the doubt.
But all he could muster was fatigue. All he could manage to crave was his old life. He loved his wife and children, and he missed them. There was simply nothing else.
One more fight in a string of many. He had found a way to stave off the overwhelming odds facing FOB Frontier. He would find a way to reclaim his place in the army. He would find a way to make Julie understand why he had done what he had done. He would fix this. The phone weighed heavily in his pocket. He’d put off making this call too many times. He wasn’t going to do it with a ship waiting for him to disembark. When he got back to shore, he’d grab a bench, wave everyone off, and talk for as long as it took. Ripple wouldn’t like it, but he’d figure out a way to deal with her.
He sighed and headed down the gangway. Ripple fell in behind him. He felt the disciplined eddy of her magic and pushed back on his own, instinctively reaching out to tug at her current. ‘Must be good to be on the water,’ he said. Ripple had helped him create his first boomers, water-cleaning devices that helped him make the long trek across miles of hostile territory.
‘You get sick of it after a while,’ she said. ‘Spend your life in Hydromancy, and after a while all you want to do is burn something.’
Bookbinder smiled. ‘Back at the FOB, all you wanted to do was come with me on a mission.’
Ripple looked around at the ship, the placid quay, the low buildings in the distance. Her mouth settled into a thin line. ‘Somehow, sir, this wasn’t what I had in mind.’
He laughed. ‘It’s safer.’
‘I didn’t join up to stay safe.’
The Breakwater ’s skipper had spared four sideboys, two to either side of the gangway, to salute him as the boatswain piped him aboard, calling out, ‘Now, Brigadier General Alan Bookbinder, United States Army, arriving.’ Bookbinder had been briefed to salute the flag flying from the ship’s stern, but there were no officers visible to request permission to come aboard from, so he simply returned the salutes the sideboys offered, stepped onto the main deck, and stood awkwardly until the boatswain, a chief warrant officer whose name tape read RODRIGUEZ , came over to him.
She had a face like a granite block, hair cut efficiently short, black streaked with gray. Her hard muscle and leathery skin spoke of a life at sea. ‘Commander Bonhomme is waiting for you up on the bridge, sir,’ Rodriguez said. A breach of protocol and an insult, but Bookbinder had grown used to them.
Rodriguez led them into the superstructure, up a ladder, and down a narrow passageway. The Breakwater ’s tight spaces made Bookbinder claustrophobic, the gentle rocking of the ship turning his knees watery. His appetite fled. Ripple took it in stride, also stumbling but not looking nearly as green.
He put out a hand against the bulkhead to steady himself, waving away Ripple’s support. Rodriguez turned, regarding him doubtfully. ‘You okay, sir?’
‘Fine,’ Bookbinder answered, straightening. ‘Just . . . not used to this is all.’ He felt his gorge rise and burped before he could stop himself.
Rodriguez’s eyes narrowed, with disgust or sympathy, he couldn’t tell. ‘ Breakwater ’s a stable platform, sir. It’ll get a little worse out there, but not much. I’ll ask the storekeeper if we’ve got a patch for you.’
Bookbinder wasn’t sure what a patch was, but he shook his
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