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"Taking over what?"
Valentine's heart tripped when he saw Bullfrog's hand fall to his holster.
Valentine stuck his thumbs in his belt. "Your unit. They'll be taking orders from me, until I depart."
"Doubt it. They answer to me."
"Never said otherwise. I outrank you. I'll give the orders to you, then you'll amplify, organize and carry out. Way it always worked in Southern Command."
Bullfrog sighed. "That again. I told you before, I don't-"
"You will, or I'll knock you into next week."
The sergeant stood up. Valentine's leveled stare hit Bullfrog just below the collarbone. "You think you can whip me?"
"If you won't take my word for it."
"If you're dead set on an ass-kicking, I'll oblige, Valentine."
"You've been around the Kurians too long. You're not the local demigod. Time to put you back in the chain of command, since you can't handle the responsibility." Bullfrog turned an intriguing shade of purple, took a breath- "I'm going to use these stores. And another thing. I won't stand for any more reprisals against civilians," Valentine finished, delaying whatever was coming.
Bullfrog's rapid-fire laughter filled the mess room and echoed like a string of firecrackers going off: heh-ha-heh-ha-heh-ha. "I fight with my fists, not paper."
"That's your prerogative. I'm not filing a Jagger complaint."
* * * *
Bullfrog wasted no time. He led Valentine outside. Word passed around among the men via the mysterious network that exists in any organization, always faster and more effective than any communications flowchart. As they walked out the thick steel door and up the stairs, everyone from Nail's Bears to Bullfrog's own headquarters staff followed.
Valentine took off his tunic as he exited the plant-cluttered office building. The cool air felt good as it licked across his hot ears. The sky had become overcast again; the late-winter rains looked to be building again. Meadows, guided by a pair of Wolves, was crossing the parking lot.
"Valentine," Meadows hallooed. "Since we're resting I wanted to-"
"Sorry, sir, busy," Valentine said.
Meadows' forehead wrinkled as Bullfrog removed his own jacket. "That you, Fa-no, Frum. Sergeant Frum?"
"Colonel Meadows," Bullfrog said, not bothering to salute.
"What's all this?" Meadows turned in a circle as he looked at the mixed contingent of men, some throwing suspenders over their shoulders or still pulling on boots as they emerged from the office building.
Valentine ignored him, but the remoter, calmer quarters of his brain filed away Bullfrog's familiarity with Meadows. "Men!" he said, not having to try too hard to sound fighting-mad. "An exchange of blows between officers of Southern Command is considered a court-martial offense by the Uniform Code, especially if there is a difference in rank. I picked this quarrel with Sergeant Frum; he's to be held blameless." Valentine spat into each palm and formed his hands into tight fists. "Sergeant Frum, do you hold me blameless under the Uniform Code?"
Bullfrog planted his feet. "You can count on it, Valentine."
"Tell the men, and Colonel Meadows, so he's a witness. I don't want to hang with those others."
Bullfrog somehow managed to shout using the side of his mouth, keeping his vision locked on Valentine. "He's blameless too, under the Uniform Code."
Valentine lowered his fists. "Sergeant, the Southern Command's Uniform Code isn't a buffet. You can't pick and choose which rules apply. You either operate under it or you don't. You've just accepted its protection, and with its protection goes-"
"Bullshit!" Bullfrog shouted. "Tricks won't-"
He charged, arms up and reaching for Valentine's diroat.
But Bullfrog was just big, and Valentine was a Cat. He sidestepped the rush, reached out and grabbed a handful of Quisling-issue collar, whipped his legs up and got them around Bullfrog's waist. They both went down, Bullfrog using his weight and strength to hammer Valentine into the ground.
Valentine got his forearm under Bullfrog's chin, an old wrestling move he'd learned-the hard way-from his old top sergeant in Zulu Company.
