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The second day they broke into working groups. The big bugs from the one end divided assembly into three groups: "combat," "support and liason," and "hunter."
Valentine ended up in the support and liason group, under the bald lieutenant colonel with the wall of campaign ribbons who'd asked the question about how the Kurians would react to a new Freehold. Valentine wondered if the question hadn't been prearranged by Lambert.
"Don't be fooled by all this," Jolla chuckled, tapping the campaign ribbons. "Just means I'm old. I don't know much more about Highbeam than you. They called me in because I know how to keep the soup pots full for an army on the march." Valentine couldn't help liking him.
Some of the other officers who knew him from other campaigns called him "Jolly." Jolla told those in Valentine's team to do the same.
There were study guides to go through about Kentucky, the Virginias, and the surrounding areas. Every day Valentine lugged around two hundred or more pages of text and maps in Southern Command's battered three-ring binders, with tabs for future additions as the operational plans were developed. An artist, or maybe just a bored student, had sewn a denim cover on Valentine's binder at some point or other. Valentine smiled when he saw William Post's name as one of the intelligence staff who'd prepared background. Post was at Southern Command's general headquarters now, studying and tracking Quisling military formations and assessing their capabilities.
The appointment said a lot about his old number two, Will Post.
General headquarters wasn't a place for cushy assignments bought by politics, patronage, or a mixture of rank and bureaucratic skill. You had to be good to get an office at GHQ. Post was good.
They thumbed through the study guides until Lambert and Seng arrived. The big bugs had worked out a preliminary organizational chart before they even arrived, but gallstone surgery and the death of a major's spouse had meant a little last-minute juggling.
The pair met with Jolly first, relocating to a corner while everyone else read through their local study guides. Valentine was studying a history of the legworm ranchers-he recognized some phrasing from his own reports about the Bulletproof, one of the Kentucky clans- when Jolly told him Seng and Lambert wanted him next.
They shook hands and the triad sat down.
"Glad to meet you at last, Valentine," Seng said. His squashed-flat face was pulled down a bit at the corners, reminding Valentine of a catfish.
"Thank you, sir," Valentine said, a bit befuddled by the "at last."
"I had charge of the brigade in the Boston Mountains that was keeping Solon's boys busy while Southern Command was reorganizing in the swamps. They were getting set to roll over us when you derailed them in Little Rock."
Why in God's name isn't this man a general? Seng's history, prompted, came back to Valentine in a flash. He'd kept ten times his number tied down with a couple of regiments of regulars and some Wolf and Bear formations. He'd been at the Trans-Mississippi combat corps briefings.
"I should be thanking you, then," Valentine said. "They were so scared of you, they never shifted enough men to Little Rock to just roll over us. It's an honor to meet you, sir."
"If you two want to hug, I won't tell," Lambert put in. "We've got twelve more sit-downs today, Colonel."
"Terrible thought. Dots off schedule," Seng said.
"Are you sorry you're not with the hunter or combat groups here?" Lambert asked Valentine.
"I'm just happy Highbeam is under way," Valentine said.
"I know. Ahn-Kha," Lambert said. "There's a picture of you and him up at GHQ, by the way.
It's in the case with some mementos from the drive on Dallas. You guys are sleeping on the hood of a truck. He's sitting with his back against the windshield and you're pillowed on his thigh. It's rather sweet. His fur is all muddy and spiky. I recognized you by the hair."
"He was a good friend," Valentine said. If the rumors of a golden Grog leading the guerrilla army in the coal country had any truth to them, a piece of Valentine's soul knew it had to be Ahn-Kha.
"He's the one who brought in the heartroot tuber, right?" Seng said.
"It's more like a mushroom than a tuber," Valentine said. Heart-root was protein rich, with a nice balance of fats and carbohydrates. It was usually ground up and made into animal feed, or a hearty meal that could be boiled in water or baked, or a sweet paste that could be put on a biscuit, the last variant popularly called "Grog guck."
"But we're putting Dots off schedule again."
"Thanks, Val," she said.
"Where's Styachowski?" Valentine asked. "I'd think she'd be involved in this."
Lambert's face blanked into a funereal mask. "Killed, two months ago. Plane crash in Mississippi. She was coordinating our Wolves with some guerrillas in Alabama."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Valentine said. Numb now, he would feel the shock would sink in when he was alone at night, the way it always did. He was horribly used to this kind of news after a dozen years of fighting.
"That's why I try to avoid the bother of a personal life," she said. She opened the thick folder on her lap. Bookmarks with notations on it ran all around its three edges like a decorative fringe. She glanced at Seng and he spoke.
