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"That's a lot of data. The river's their backbone running up the Ozarks."
"You've got to find us a way across."
"Short of stealing some flatboats or swimming the whole column, I don't see how we do it. Only bridges up are in Little Rock, and that's their new headquarters."
"Think about it for me."
Styachowski's eyes narrowed, but she spoke with a cheerful bounce to her voice. "I can't count on the waters parting, can I?"
"Sorry."
"Ah, well. When a Saint came marching into camp, I had hope-"
Valentine laughed. "What's the crossbar for?
"Hunter staff. I'm a Bear. Never made it on a combat team, though. Always some excuse."
"What did they invoke you for, then?"
"Didn't. I was sort of born into it. Only action I've seen was Hazlett, and that was in a mortar team."
"I was up that way. Didn't see the fighting, just the cleanup," Valentine said.
"Lucky. But it was a picnic compared to the last few months."
"One more thing. You had a rough time, at the trial and after. Are you okay?"
Her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
"You don't look well. Have you been sleeping enough?"
She ran her hand through her hair and rubbed the back of her neck at the end of the gesture. "I always look like a slice of fresh death. Don't worry."
"I mean the fight at the trial. Hell of a thing to go through."
"I'm a bit numb still. I'm glad we have a lot to do ... I'll just work till I drop tonight. Be better tomorrow."
"Don't short yourself sleep. Just makes everything worse." Valentine spoke from experience. "Sometimes a drink helps."
"I've had three drinks my whole life, Captain. Two of them were last night, after all that. Didn't help. Thanks for hearing me out about the Bear stuff. Lieutenant Nail just laughed. Our good General said I had too good a brain for fighting, and too tight an ass for uniform pants. I hope you'll give me a chance to prove myself."
"You proved yourself when you stepping in at the Grog shooting."
"I should have taken action before then. Been watching and waiting too long, should have followed my gut a long time ago. When he started letting the gargoyles overfly us witfiout so much as a shot..."
She left the last to hang for a moment, and Valentine wondered at her absent stare into the distance. Then she swallowed and threw her muscular shoulders back. "Okay, time to round up some livestock and then sit down with a map. If you'll excuse me, I have a lot to do."
* * * *
Colonel Meadows put himself between Valentine and Martinez as the column made ready to leave.
"You've nothing to fear from me, Meadows," Martinez said. He glanced up to Randolph, perched on a rock above. Randolph had decided to stay, and sat atop the rock, rifle in his lap, looking out at the assembled "mutineers."
"That whole farce was my fault," Meadows said. "You should have been tried from your cell in the guardhouse. You're a disgrace, but I'm the bigger disgrace for letting it happen."
Valentine looked out on the road, filled with files of people in meir assortment of Southern Command uniforms, rain ponchos, coats and hats. Perhaps six hundred soldiers were interspersed with a handful of tagalong civilian specialists. Packhorses and mules, leashed pigs, chickens and geese in baskets, and a total of four wagons added to the noise and smell. Squads of Guard soldiers were relieving the men of Southern Command rifles, while others poked in the pack-horse loads. A cold wind coursed through the hollow.
"None of the animals have a Southern Command brand," Valentine said, continuing the argument Meadows had interrupted. Ahn-Kha wandered up the file, cradling his long Grog rifle.
