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As the Golden One told a story about the destruction of a rail tunnel, a report came in that the Moondagger column was turning again, this time north. They might have finally turned toward Javelin. They'd have to relocate again to keep it under observation.
They bolted the rest of the meal and washed their pannikins in the spring. Ahn-Kha wrapped up his jar of honey and stuck it back in a vast pouch on his harness that smelled like wild onions. Valentine gave him a collection of Grog guck scavenged from the men with promises to replace it with chocolate bars from the medical stores.
Valentine would always remember that tiny plastic honey reservoir, and the way Ahn-Kha licked his fingers after sharing it out. Would there ever be a world again where people cared about the shape of a container?
He hoped so.
When they parted he shook the slightly sticky hand again, felt it engulf his own. Fingers that could snap his femur closed gently around his hand.
"Good luck, my David. We will meet again in happier circumstances. "
"You said something like that before."
"And I was right. Give my regards to Mr. Post and Malita Carrasca. And our smoldering red firebug."
The staggering weight of all that had happened since they'd last said good-bye left him speechless. Ahn-Kha didn't even know about Blake.
"I trust your judgment on that one, old horse."
"Major, we have to leave. Now, sir," Moytana said.
So much for the fleeting pleasures of lukewarm corn mash sweetened by a tincture of honey. Valentine considered requesting that "Resting in peace-subject to the requirements of the service" be emblazoned on his grave marker.
Ahn-Kha's ears flicked up. "I'll give you a little more warning next time so you can receive me properly." He pulled his leather cap a little tighter on his head and picked up his stovepipe contraption. "After all, as you can see, I am a distinguished general."
"I'll bake a cake," Valentine said.
"Heartroot would do. See if you can't get me a few eyeroots, would your"
"Good luck, my old friend. I can't tell you how good it is to see you again," Valentine said.
"When matters are settled in these mountains, you will see me again. Chance is not yet done playing with us."
With that, he turned and loped rather heavily off to the east into the woods, his men running to keep up. Valentine wondered what another brigade, three thousand strong or more, of Golden Ones could accomplish if led by his old friend.
* * * *
The column had turned for Javelin. They were mounting a small force on armored trucks.
Valentine wondered what the urgency was and requested that they make contact with base.
"Javelin's hung up at a bridge crossing. I can't get a warning through-there's some kind of jamming," the com tech reported.
"Moytana, try to delay those vehicles. Avoid a fight if you can. Block the road with trees at some gap."
"I'll see what I can do, sir. Looks like they're taking several routes, though."
The Moondagger column had turned into a hydra. One head crawled up a ridge, trying to get to the next valley over. A second was turning northeast, perhaps to get around behind Javelin.
"Send your fastest messenger back to headquarters with a warn-ing. I think we can guess their route well enough. I'll follow as best as can.
"Yes, sir," Moytana said, calling for his runner.
A boy of sixteen or seventeen-so it seemed to Valentine- answered the call. He carried an assault rifle that made him look even more like a child playing at war. It was a good old Atlanta Gunworks Type 3.
"Here, I'll carry that back to brigade for you, son," Valentine said, wanting the gun's angry bark.
Valentine took a slightly different path on the long road back than the boy. He angled off to the west, to see what that column marching across the ridge intended to do.
