Wings of Fire Ch. 21 - Teaser (Patreon)

“Three men, right side! Don’t bunch up! Jeanette, cover Julia! Kosta, with me!” Ernie Sr. pointed as he continued issuing orders.

“Finally!” Kosta grinned.

“Do not make me regret that sentence.”

“I make no promise.”

Julia Mead, eyepatch dark against her face, slipped behind a concession wagon while Jeanette covered her. Julia fired twice from the far side, dropping one Flintlock while the other ducked. Ernie Sr. moved immediately, not charging blindly, but advancing during the enemy’s hesitation.

Kosta followed in his wake like an avalanche that had received tactical instruction. A Flintlock gunman swung around the wagon and found Ernest Sr. already there. Senior knocked the rifle aside, drove one fist into the man’s ribs, caught him by the coat, and threw him bodily into the side of the wagon hard enough to shake the entire structure.

“Very nice,” Kosta chuckled as he stared appreciatively.

“Eyes forward, kid,” Ernie Sr. groused.

“Yes, Sergeant.”

“Command Sergeant Major.”

“Even better,” Kosta replied, his grin widening.

Another man came from the opposite side, but Ernie Jr. intercepted him. The younger Black did not have his father’s sheer physical mass, but he had clearly inherited the training. He ducked the first swing, drove the butt of his weapon into the man’s stomach, then pivoted aside rather than remaining in place where another shooter could line him up.

“Good!” Senior commended, seeing what his son had done.

“I know!” Junior replied, almost looking offended.

“You want praise or survival?” the elder Black man questioned.

“Both!”

“Earn both!”

Even Maribel laughed at the banter between father and son. Then she watched Senior shift the entire advance ten yards south because he had noticed the Flintlocks trying to establish overlapping fire from two parked trucks. He did not merely fight but organized everyone around him into a better fighting force.

“Council boys, take that ditch!” he called out and they moved to occupy the space.

“Julia, Jeanette, hold the center!” he snapped and the twins obeyed.

“Kosta—”

“Yes?”

“Now you can charge,” Senior told him.

“Otlichnyy! (Excellent!)” Kosta grinned, his expression like that of a kid on Christmas morning. The man ran full tilt into the enemy front lines, and the effect was horrifying. Kosta slammed into the Flintlock position with enough force that one man simply abandoned his weapon and ran.

“Holy shit,” Mateo gasped, staring at the rampaging Russian.

“Language,” Maribel snapped, slapping the back of his head lightly.

“You say worse.”

“I am your mother,” Maribel reminded him. Mateo looked back toward Ernest Sr., who was dragging a wounded volunteer behind cover with one hand while firing with the other.

“I want to be that good,” Mateo breathed, hero worship filling his eyes. Maribel studied the former command sergeant major, as she had known decorated men like him. She had known officers with polished boots and medals who became very small once bullets started moving.

Ernest Black Senior was not one of them, as he had not earned rank by smiling at superior officers. He had earned it because men survived when he was near them, and that was a different matter entirely.

“Then watch him,” Maribel told her son, who nodded dumbly. “And learn something besides how hard he hits.”

“What?” Mateo asked, looking confused.

“Watch where he stands, who he moves first, who he protects, when he advances and when he doesn’t. Being a good soldier is not just knowing how to kill.”

“DOWN!” Ernie Sr. shouted as another burst of gunfire erupted from Flintlock positions. Half the line dropped before they even saw why, as machine-gun fire swept above them.

“Like that,” Maribel stated, giving Mateo a pointed look.

“Right,” Mateo replied, swallowing.

“Good level to aim for, though,” Maribel told him with a faint smile.