The wights snarled and rasped breathlessly as they were tied up and rolled into large fur blankets, tucked in with ice slabs from deep inside the Wall. Their luminescent blue eyes rolled and searched as they were packed atop the crawler's rear unit, secured with strong polymer rope from another world. Stacked like carpets, a tarp was laid over them and still more ice from the Wall shovelled on top, finally covered with a second large canvas to protect the cargo from the sun.
The last piece of cargo. Everything else had been readied to go the evening before, allowing those that would be going south to catch a long sleep.
Zheng flashed a thumbs up from on top of the crawler, indicating that everything was secure for travel. Michael flashed it back out of habit and waved for her to get down, feeling strangely sluggish for reasons he couldn't explain.
"So that's it," O'Neill said from behind.
"That's it," Michael confirmed, "We're ready to go."
"Are we?" the Sergeant asked, "I know logically, we are. Doesn't feel like it, sir."
"There's a good reason for that," Michael replied, "All we have to do is engage in diplomacy with a foreign power, on another world, in the technological and cultural context of a medieval society. If we succeed, we get to drive or fight our way to a magic island that might not be magic at all, then maybe retrace our journey. If we fail, we're in the middle of another idiotic war."
"What could possibly go wrong?" O'Neill commented flatly, "You forgot about the ice demons, sir."
Michael grimaced. "If a Wall a few hundred feet high can't stop them, we're up the creek anyway. Hopefully we can leave that problem behind us."
"And now that you've said that, we're fucked, sir," Zheng declared cheerily, "Best not tell them that though." She gestured to the open space around the gate area of Molestown, where the Laughing Tree tribe was fully assembled.
To one side, those that would remain behind until some sort of resolution to the Stark-Free Folk conflict was made. Mostly settled folks, Michael noted, Married with kids. They were clumped together in knots, not having been subject to the constant drilling of O'Neill. The Sergeant's opinion was you couldn't teach old dogs new tricks, though they weren't all that old.
To the other side, a disciplined line of almost-soldiers, dressed in black steel mail over their furs, with helms and shields. They were almost exclusively young men and women. Each had a maple-leaf made of red cloth pinned to their chests, seemingly cut from a single template. Even the unicorn riders, dismounted for inspection and in far less orderly a line, had the patch.
I wonder whose idea that was? Michael thought with annoyance, pondering on whether or not he should order the 'sigils' removed. They're not Canadians. Not yet, anyway.
"They look more ready than we are," O'Neill commented.
"Of course they are," Michael responded, "They've been waiting for this longer than we have."
There was a commotion as a group of riders came through the deliberately emptied 'market' section of the village.
To Michael's surprise, it was Queen Dalla leading the way, not Mance. She looked more regal than ever before, wearing a crown of small antlers and what looked like Mance's black and red cloak. Beside her was Val, looking far more modest in what were quite obviously travelling furs. Behind the royal pair was a collection of Crows that included Jon Stark and the Lord Commander himself.
The riders passed between the two groups of the Laughing Tree, coming to a halt in front of the crawler. Keeping up diplomacy, Michael stood to attention and saluted Dalla. The Queen dismounted and returned the salute in decent fashion, drawing an amused snort from Zheng.
"Your Majesty," Michael greeted, ignoring the Corporal.
The Queen did not comment on the use of the title. "Lord Duquesne," Dalla replied, "Or is it Elector Duquesne?"
Michael saw Mormont frown ever so slightly behind, apparently not happy or not a believer that the whole party of Canadians were nobles. Perceptive grouch. "Lieutenant Duquesne, I'm under arms," he replied with a smile, "Is the King joining us?"
Dalla shook her head. "He's resolving a dispute between tribes," she said, "It seems the warriors of the Ice River and Mountain Caves were unable to take the Shadow Tower. Their families are unhappy that their men were sent at all."
That meant the Night's Watch still survived in some independent fashion, Michael knew. He looked to Mormont again, finding the man carefully guarding his face from showing feelings on the matter. But the Lord Commander was too smart to think questions about it could be avoided.
"Ser Denys Mallister has commanded the Shadow Tower for three-and-thirty years," Mormont declared, "If you expect me to order him to stand down, you'll find yourself disappointed by the result."
Dalla glared at the man over her shoulder for a moment. "Another matter Mance will need to deal with. Worry not. The Halfhand has offered to mediate. And if that fails, the Frozen Shore tribe and their cousins of the forest will happily make the journey to take the Tower from the south."
"And Ser Denys will happily meet them in battle," Mormont smiled, "I suppose it is all in the hands of the gods."
"You may suppose," Val commented, her tone venomous, "But the gods will not save Denys Mallister."
"Nor the warriors he cuts down before his fate reaches him," Mormont replied coolly.
For reasons he couldn't explain, Michael found the whole exchange increasingly hilarious with each word. Thanks to the underground library, he knew of the complexity of politics in the South. The familiarity of the argument between Crow and Free Folk seemed almost quaint by comparison.
Yet the back and forth was a long way from murder, which would've been the default between a Crow and Free Folk person south of the Wall not so long ago. At last, a loud chuckle escaped him, ending the back-and-forth.
Michael held up his hands in apology. "Sorry," he said, "It's just… I think I'll actually miss this when we're gone. Night's Watch and Free Folk… Crow and wildling… You stupidly kill each other, sure, but now you're just jousting with words. Doing what we've done here? Bringing the Free Folk south and keeping some sort of peace, I think it might be the most important thing I've ever done in my life. Let's not screw it up. There's an army of dead men after us all."
Eyes wide, Val and Mormont exchanged looks, while the rest of the delegation simply stared. Jon Stark's left eyebrow threatened to disappear up into his generous hairline, which actually made things even more amusing.
Michael glanced between Dalla and Mormont for a moment. A strange melancholy rose up his throat that he couldn't suppress. The next time I see them, they could be wights…
"We might find a way home and never meet you again," he said, "So keep each other alive when we're gone. Try to remember you're all human beings, and your real enemies are not. Not just talking about the Others either. Hunger, disease… stupidity. Do your best against those, and remember us, for what that's worth."
The Lord Commander looked away, north towards the Wall. Dalla gazed at Michael, her eyes warm with surprised approval. Val sighed, and glanced at an equally confused Jon Stark. I've stunned them all. Great.
"Where did that come from?" Zheng asked in English, "Motivational speaking a side-gig of yours, sir? I wouldn't quit the day job."
Michael shrugged. He didn't know why he needed to say what he had. "Are you ready to march?" he asked the two who would be joining him, "You have your sword, Jon Stark?"
"I am ready." "Yes, it was returned to me."
The responses from Val and Jon came one on top of the other, solemn as a funeral prayer. Both were resigned to whatever awaited them on the journey, a death sentence hung over them. Without anything that could soothe them, and not sure he should even try to begin with, Michael just nodded. "Then let's begin."
He side-stepped away, back into view of the parade lines of the Laughing Tree. Taryne, Ryk and Ygritte immediately saw him, and braced themselves for the order they knew was coming. "Mount up!"
The order was repeated as the formation of three hundred men and women broke and ran towards the corrals of horses and unicorns, every one of them eager to get going. Their mounts and spares had already been loaded up with their weapons, supplies and equipment. It was just a matter of getting in the saddle and going for most of them, following Ygritte down the King's Road.
Speaking of getting in the saddle… "Where is Lady Rowan?" Michael asked Dalla, "She is supposed to be riding with us."
The Queen smiled and pointed to the crawler. Indeed, the older woman was already waiting by the forward cabin, leaning against the vehicle with a large bag made of what looked like an entire deer. When did she get there? Michael wondered.
"Our mother has always been able to move unnoticed," Dalla explained, sensing his question. Makes sense, Michael thought, Useful skill where getting kidnapped is a first date.
"She is ready to speak to our grandfather and grand-uncle," Val added.
"She better be or we'll all be neck deep in your grandfather's blood," Zheng snarked, before marching back towards Rowan with the intent of getting into the crawler. She still had little faith in the plan or that anyone was getting to Canada from this world. Michael frowned, and glanced at O'Neill to join her. The Sergeant understood at once and trod in Zheng's steps.
Michael made to go and do one last errand. "Lady Val, Jon Stark… say your goodbyes. When I get back, we'll be moving out."
Dalla stopped him gently. "Lieutenant, please understand our fate is partially in your hands. We are taking a great risk in trusting you. If things do not go well, recover my sister and mother from Winterfell, whatever else happens."
"I promise," Michael said, "I already promised."
"I needed to hear it again." Dalla said, moving out of the way.
Michael could understand that. Shooting their way out of Winterfell was a last resort that some might be tempted to avoid entirely. The library's information on the castle was not encouraging. Still, he went on his way, passing by Jon Stark and Tarly in conference. The latter's eyes were watering with grief. Not just heartfelt goodbyes for the Free Folk, then.
Taryne was waiting for him in the empty space left behind when Ygritte had led the troops away to their mounts. She looked considerably better dressed than before, having acquired clothing not made from animal skins in the twenty four hours since Michael had last seen her. "Lieutenant," she greeted.
Michael gave her a nod. "It's time. You already have the gold and silver we taxed from the trade. Is there anything else you need?"
"Just our return to our homeland," Taryne replied, putting her hands on her hips, "Convince the lords of that."
"I'm going to attempt to," Michael answered, "Hopefully that will be the easy part. You're willing to 'bend the knee'. I'm sure they'll like that."
Taryne bit her lip in thought. "I'm not so sure. I feel more nervous than I was after I was taken by the raiders, though that was because I was ignorant. I keep asking myself the same questions… Have I led these families to doom? Will the lords let me go home with my children? Or will they reject everything I am?"
Michael felt a pang of sympathy for her. She had taken a risk coming to him for help, and brought many families along with her. "They'll not like what happens if they do reject you."
Taryne's face lit up with amusement, her eyes laughing though her mouth was not. "Ah, they'll meet the wrath of the mighty Wallbreakers!"
"God damn right."
Taryne swept him into an embrace, just for a moment. "Thank you. I may have to name my next child after you, Lieutenant."
"Please don't. That's far too embarrassing."
"All the more reason to do it, then."
Michael couldn't formulate a response to that, and stood staring at the good-humoured woman for a minute, until the patter of boots on damp ground summoned his attention elsewhere.
From the corrals, Sayer walked quickly over, on his way to do his duty. He shot a salute up as soon as he saw Michael turn. "Unicorn riders report ready to march, sir!"
The unicorn clans hadn't earned the trust to be given radios yet, having only joined the Laughing Tree after the Wall fell. Michael would've preferred to keep Sayer on assignment with them permanently, but had thought better of it. No need to make hostage taking easy.
He nodded, and changed the channel on his radio. "Weirwood, this is Maple. Report."
"We're on the horses," Ygritte replied, any semblance of military professionalism missing from her response, "Can we go now?"
Michael looked around, seeing no reason to wait. "Get on the road in column, but wait for us and the unicorn riders. We'll pass you, that'll be the go signal. Got it?"
"Yeah, I understand," Ygritte grumbled, her English pronunciation somehow better than before. She had mastered the art of complying while being a shit about it.
Sayer shot Michael a look, like he wanted to say something. Michael raised his brow at the Private, inviting him to speak his mind.
"Ygritte seems annoyed at you, sir," he said.
"She is," Michael confirmed, "She wanted to ride in the BV. Can't say I blame her, even the seats in the crawler are softer than a saddle."
Taryne gave a guffaw. "If you believe that is the reason she is displeased, you are beyond hope."
Michael glared briefly at Sayer, transmitting the simple thought; Look what you've done. The Private straightened up to attention. Michael stopped himself, a little guilty. It wasn't really Sayer's fault. He turned back to Taryne. "I'm aware of her feelings."
"But you do not know how to respond."
"I do. But the mission comes first. We have laws. It's been explained to her."
"And maybe she even accepted your explanation. But that doesn't mean she's happy about it."
"I'll figure something out."
Further discussion of the matter was interrupted, as the column of mostly-shaggy horses and large ponies began moving out from their corral. Each rider had a spare mount tied on the end of a rope following beside, to facilitate the quick march south. Winterfell in ten days, Michael thought, It's going to be tough. Good thing the Watch had plenty of horses.
After the vanguard unit of warriors who actually knew how to fight from horseback rode by, which was not a large group among the Laughing Tribe or the Free Folk more generally, the forward command unit appeared.
Ygritte and her elected NCOs rode on ex-Watch horses in full regalia. She wore a Canadian helmet and radio headset, her blazing-red hair flowing and bursting over her shoulders from beneath them. She also wore Singh's body armour over her furs, and over that, a necklace made of brass bullet casings arranged in three lines with a small circle of them just below the collar. The necklace had not been on her before. Her weapons hung from her belt or her saddle, including her old short-bow and the longbow taken from the Other she had helped to slay.
Very Mad Max, Michael thought with amusement, Clear the way for the Bullet Farmer!
Ygritte gave a salute as she approached, two riders behind holding spears with the Laughing Tree sigil and the Maple Leaf flag waving from them. Michael got the message loud and clear. 'I can follow your rules. Join your clan. Now give me what is mine.'
He couldn't, of course. But for some reason, south of the Wall, the rules seemed to matter a little less. Or maybe the time away from the rest of the Army was getting to him. Ygritte was a large part of the reason the remains of his platoon were alive and had allies. Without her, they would've been wandering the wastes beyond the Wall aimlessly, or very much dead.
An idea quickly popped into his head. A quick check to see that O'Neill wasn't in visual range allowed its execution. To hell with it. Michael did not return Ygritte's salute. Instead, he winked at her, wearing a smile that would brook no misinterpretation.
Not much in the grand scale of things, but a promise.
A mischievous grin spreading across her face, Ygritte dropped her hand back to the reins and winked back. The conspiracy is born.
Michael saluted the flag bearers instead as they all passed by, putting himself back into the appropriate mindset. He turned to Taryne once again, as if nothing had happened. "Commandant," he addressed her by her new made-up rank, ignoring her exasperated look, "The base is yours." He saluted her again.
"My gratitude," Taryne replied with false politeness, before cheering up, "See you again soon." She gave him another embrace, which he returned, and a very startled Sayer was dragged into one to match, which he did not return out of surprise.
"Let's go, Private."
Michael and Sayer made their way back to the crawler, avoiding Jon Stark and Val 'Umber' as they rode to join the horse column with Ryk behind them as escort. Dalla and Mormont both looked on with concern, while Tarly openly wept behind them.
"This better work, Duquesne," Mormont intoned without breaking his gaze at Jon's back.
"I don't need you to remind me of that," Michael replied, before looking to Dalla, "Your Majesty, we'll be leaving now. Tell Mance I'd like this place to remain intact while I'm gone. However long I'm gone."
"I shall," Dalla said, "We'll have a horn of ale when we meet next."
"Sounds like a good idea. Goodbye."
Michael gave Tarly a pat on the shoulder as he went by, and finally, Sayer and he reached the doors to the front unit of the crawler. Zheng was already in the driving seat, O'Neill in the front to supervise, and 'Lady' Rowan Umber was in the far rear corner watching the unicorn riders join the column out of the window. Much of the space was filled with everyone's packs, removed from the rear unit of the vehicle so more supplies could be carried.
Climbing inside, Sayer took a seat next to Rowan and Michael crouched on top of the engine deck, prepared to stand up and take the machinegun position in the roof.
"Any last words?" Michael joked to the crew, "Objections?"
Zheng twisted in her seat, arm over the back of it. "It's five hundred clicks to Winterfell, a place we don't need to go and we've got a fullish tank of fuel. It's a warzone between there and here probably, and we're moving with a group of warriors that'll attract a fight. And the people there are literally fucking medieval. Do I have objections, sir?"
"Nothing I haven't already said to him, Corporal," O'Neill said, "Let's go."
Zheng shrugged and returned her attention forward.
"Attagirl," O'Neill smirked, before giving Michael a thumbs up. Shaking his head, the latter stood up into the machinegun position. The crawler's engine roared to life beneath him, and the Corporal turned the vehicle around in a slow arc, drawing the eyes of every villager, Free Folker and Crow present. The last of the unicorn riders was moving through the gate area.
"Follow them out," Michael commanded over the comms, nice and easy.
"Copy."
The crawler moved at a leisurely pace past all spectators, royal, Crow or otherwise, and out of CFB Molestown entirely. The turn onto the Kingsroad was awkward on account of the fuel trailer, but Zheng managed it without incident. The flow of refugees had been stopped by decree of King Mance, those coming through the Wall instead camping at Castle Black for the moment to allow the march a traffic free start.
Zheng pushed the vehicle down the road alongside the waiting column, passing the unicorn and horse riders. Michael gave a wave as they passed, though most were watching the weapon he was holding the grip of with the other hand. Peace through superior firepower, his mind joked badly.
The vehicle passed by the command unit, Ygritte shooting him another wink. Michael smiled warmly at her as they passed, and adjusted his radio mouthpiece. "Weirwood, this is Maple. Catch us if you can, see you this evening. Godspeed."
"Copy, Maple," Ygritte replied with as much professionalism as she could muster, "Don't get into any fights with the kneelers without us. We've got warg birds up, we'll know all about it."
Michael turned his attention and the weapon forwards, as they cleared the column and nothing but open road appeared before the crawler. "No promises, Weirwood."
He grabbed the hand hold. "Corporal, hit it. Let's close the range."
"Yes, sir," came the enthusiastic reply.
The crawler accelerated to three times the speed it had been travelling at, the vehicle taking the people it had transported to another world further and further than they had ever been before.