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"Punishment Battalion or Brigade. We've got a Brigade, unfortunately. Two combat battalions and a short support".
"What, hard labor, that sort of thing?"
"More like Reaper fodder. They're our first line, out in pickets about three klicks west. Their commander's not a bad sort... they've really shaped up under him. They're criminals. There's some shady types in these mountains, preying on both sides. If they don't like the feel of the noose, they can opt to PB their term. Of course a lot try to desert as soon as they get their bearings. They get shot, of course".
"How did the fighting go?"
"Well. Adler was right, as usual. We caught them pulling back. Got a fair bit of booty - they dropped everything and ran when we showed up".
"I've never seen Bears operate in those numbers before. They're usually used at platoon strength at most where I come from. Accidents".
"They divide up pretty quick when we go into action, cuts down on the chances of two teams attacking each other. We're careful about getting them revved up and pushed into the redline. You'll see. Have a good hurrah up at the Outlook".
"I'd like to bring Gide. She could use a little cheering up".
"You're loyal. I like that. I'll authorize her transport, but she'll have to clear it with her militia duty".
* * *
Gide cleared it easily enough. Perhaps Thunderbird made an extra call or two. In any case, they hopped on a horse-wagon train bringing captured scrap for salvage or to be melted down and recast. It was bottom-of-the-barrel stuff, mostly cookware and gardening supplies for civilian use. Hardly worth hauling away.
"How's the transfer coming?" Valentine asked. The dress uniform hadn't shown up after all, so he cleaned and pressed his daily as best as he could.
Gide wore a summer-weight sweater and skirt. "Denied. They want me to spend at least a year", Gide said. "I think it might move along if I fucked old D. B., the militia chaplain. He can arrange about anything".
"Some chaplain", Valentine said.
"Back in Arizona I would have dropped my drawers in a heartbeat. But I don't want it to work that way here".
"Think you made a mistake?"
She rubbed the bottom of her nose. "Shit no. Free air, you know ?"
"That's a good way to put it".
"I don't feel like I'm being watched all the time, except maybe through the peepholes in the showers. There's a rumor going around that I've got something exotic tattooed around the ol' chute, and everyone's trying to verify. Just fucked luck. I'll do my year. There's
another girl there who isn't too bad - it's better if you've got someone to talk to".
Valentine nodded. She understood, and patted his hand. He squeezed in return.
* * *
The Outlook was beautiful under its sickle moon.
It hung out next to, and partly over, a waterfall. Two long blocks of rooms, two stories tall and covered with balconies, looking out over the spill. At the center a great A-framed prow of glass and rough-hewn timber arched like an eagle's head.
The carpeted inside was hunting lodge overlain on luxury hotel. Clean as an operating room, it even smelled like evergreens within. A small army of staff in jet black with immaculate white aprons scuttled around at the edges of the rooms and corridors.
A clerk in a neat, gold-buttoned black shirt and pants admitted them, verifying their presence on an old computer. Valentine tried not to stare. He couldn't imagine Southern Command wasting a functioning computer on a hotel. But then he hadn't spent much time in the higher-class social circles.
The clerk issued them alligator-clip name tags, with first names and designations. Gide's had her name in large letters and volunteer militia in smaller type below. Valentine's read david/delta group.
He tried to decline having a porter carry their small bags, but when the clerk said, "It's his job, sir... he needs it", he relented.
Luckily the scrip he'd won on poker night was accepted at the Outlook. He overtipped the porter as the bags hit the floor of their room.
"King-sized", Gide commented with a smile.
