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"Vendetta. Of course. My one-hand war grew."
"What are your numbers now?"
"I will not tell you exactly," Ahn-Kha said. "Not with all these ears around. The Kurians believe our army to number ten thousand or more. But they have multiplied when they should have divided."
"I don't suppose I can count on you at my side this time?"
"These men deserve my presence. I began their war, and I will see it through. This is a strange land, my David. Victory and defeat all depend on a few score of powerful, clannish families who run things in this part of the country. Everyone knows and is related to one or more of these families. It makes my head hurt to keep track of it all. For now, they endure the Kurians as best as they can, though there are one or two families who relish their high placement overmuch. But the others, if they believe that we will win, they will place their support with us."
They talked quietly for a while. Ahn-Kha was waging a canny war against these powerful Quisling families. His partisan "army" had the reputation it had simply because it didn't exist as a permanent body. Ahn-Kha would arrive near a town and his small body of men would gather a few second cousins and brothers-in-law, Ahn-Kha would issue arms and explosives, and they'd strike and then fragment again as the Golden One relocated to another spot.
Sometimes when they struck and killed some officer in the Quisling armed forces with a connection to one of the more powerful collaborators, they dressed him in the guerrilla vests and left him buried nearby where search dogs were sure to find him. This led to reprisals and mistrust between the Quislings, and the rickety Kurian Order in the coal country of the Appalachians was coming apart.
The Moondaggers, on their arrival, had destroyed a trio of the Quisling families under suspicion, creating bad feeling among the rest. If they were to be treated as guerrillas, they might as well join the resistance and hit back.
"You wouldn't be interested in a trip back to the Ozarks, would you? I've felt like a one-armed man since we parted."
"And I a Golden One missing the ugly half of his face. But my men need me. Though I started a revolt more by accident than inten-tion, I must see it through."
"Forget I asked."
"Can I be of assistance otherwise, my David? In this last year my small body of men have become very, very good at quick, destructive strikes. Shall I bring down bridges in the path of your enemy?"
"It's the trailing end I'd like attacked. Do you think you can to bust up their supply lines? I want the Moondaggers forced to live off the land as much as possible."
"It will not be difficult to find men to do that. They have carried off a number of daughters already. As I said, everyone here knows everyone by blood or marriage or religious fellowship."
Valentine felt an excited tingle run up his spine. Ahn-Kha usually underpromised and overdelivered. Ahn-Kha would tweak the tiger by the tail, and if the tiger was stupid enough to turn, it would find itself harried by a foxy old Grog up and down these wooded mountains.
"I can't tell you what this means to me, old horse."
"I have the easy end, my David. Kicking a bull in the balls isn't terribly difficult when someone else is grappling with the horns."
"They may deal harshly with the locals."
"They will find the people in this part of the country have short fuses and long memories, if they do so."
Ahn-Kha always was as handy with an epigram as he was with a rifle. Speaking of which-
"What the world is that thing?" Valentine asked. "A shoulder-fired coal furnace?"
"My individual 75mm," Ahn-Kha said. "Almost the only artillery in our possession. Some clever chap in my command rigs artillery shells so they go off like rockets."
"You're kidding."
Ahn-Kha's ears made a gesture like a traffic cop waving him to the left. "Kidding? It is more dangerous than it looks. That is why I have the goggles. You are lucky you haven't seen me after firing it. My hair becomes rather singed."
* * * *
They shared a simple camp meal of legworm jerky and corn mush. Valentine didn't even have any sweets to offer Ahn-Kha. If it had been in his power to do so, he'd have run all the way back to St. Louis to get some of Sissy's banana bread or molasses cookies.
If he could fantasize about running all the way, he could fantasize about bananas being available in the Grog markets.
"Sorry we don't have any molasses," Valentine said. "We're a long way from home."
Ahn-Kha extracted a small plastic jar of honey shaped like a bear, tiny in his massive fist, and squirted some onto each man's corn mash.
He quizzed Ahn-Kha on the capabilities of his guerrillas and their operations, soaking up his friend's opinions and experiences like a sponge. Ahn-Kha was doing his best to make coal extracted from these mountains as expensive in repair and garrisoning as possible.
