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Styachowski hesitated. "The lieutenant general's chief of staff, a major named Lambert. Says she remembers you from the war college, by the way."
Dots. Valentine had a feeling back then that she was destined to rise. She practically ran the war college as a cadet.
"Thank her," Valentine said.
"Val, if there's anything else I can do . . ."
"You've already exceeded expectations," Valentine said. "Again. Good-bye."
She visibly gulped. "You did right by those women." Styachowski got up and left, a little unsteadily.
Young escorted him back to his room/cell. "We turned away a visitor for you yesterday, Major. Guards say she was a bit of a meal. Red hair."
So Smoke had drifted into the vicinity after all.
"Turned away?"
"You're to get no visitors except by judge's order. Sorry."
"Is that usual?"
"Not for anyone in Southern Command. Sometimes we try Quislings, redhands, men caught as spies. They're kept I-C if it's thought they know something damaging if it gets out, but you guys are the first of ours."
"Should the lack of precedent worry me?"
"I only work here, Major. But, to tell the truth, it worries me."
* * * *
Thrush got his trial the next day. He ate his dinner alone and the "shooters" didn't see him until breakfast (reconstituted eggs that tasted like bottom sand). He wasn't inclined to talk about the proceedings.
"My counsel keeps objecting and getting overruled," Thrush said. "Six witnesses for the prosecution. My defense starts today. There was wrangling over the witnesses, my counsel only got two in."
"Do you have any family or friends in the audience?" Valentine asked.
Thrush scowled, pushing his utensils around on his tray. "There's an audience alright. You never saw such a bunch of hatchet faces. Tight-ass Kansas types. I wouldn't be surprised if they are Quislings."
"I'm going to ask for noseplugs if they're there at my trial," Roderick said.
* * * *
Valentine never saw Thrush again after that meal. Young, wary and somber, told him the verdict and sentence. Valentine wasn't surprised by the verdict but he was shocked at his reaction upon hearing the punishment. The Garage. Death by hanging. Thrush's sentence rang in his ears, rattled around in his head like a house-trapped bird frantic but unable to escape: Death by hanging.
Death by hanging. The Garage. Death by hanging.
Farland went next. The morning of his trial he was almost cheerful. "Hey, I've admitted it. I did wrong and I'll take what's coming, serve time and address cadet classes about humane treatment of prisoners if they want. The court's gotta see this as a case for mercy, right?"
His guilty plea just meant he had to spend less time in the courtroom before hearing his sentence. The trial was over and done with in thirty minutes.
This time, when Valentine asked, Young just shook his head. The guard had a hard time meeting Valentine's eyes.
In the yard that day Roderick didn't eat, he just rocked back and forth on his heels, whistling. Valentine felt he should know the tune but couldn't identify it.
"'There's No Business Like Show Business,' Val," Roderick supplied.
"Roderick, what did you do that got you in here?"
Roderick shrugged. "Guess it doesn't matter now, since none of us will be telling tales. Rape and murder of a Quisling prisoner. She was sweet and creamy, and I figured they do it plenty to our people. She had the softest-looking brown hair, partly tied up in this red bandanna. Funny. If her hair didn't catch my eye, she would have just been another prisoner walking by. But I had the boys pull her out of line."
