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"'Probation,'" the Southern Command corporal supplied. "That's what we calls 'em."
"Sergeant," Patel barked. He still didn't have his stripes with the star in the middle for his old Wolf deerskins.
"That's what we call them, Sergeant," the corporal said, stiffening.
The "probation" came to his feet smartly, took out the magazine, and opened the breech, presenting the weapon to Patel.
"Sir," he said.
Patel placed his cane against his crotch and took the rifle, checked it barrel to butt. "They take good care of their weapons."
"They're not afraid to clean them, sir."
The other probation ignored the byplay. His recruit, firing from the prone position with the gun resting on a sandbag, shot across the field. The hidden range man in the trench flagged a miss.
"Them sights is all messed up," the militia recruit complained.
The probation/trainer next to him took up the weapon, put his cheek to it, and fired from the seated position. The spotter pulled the target down and pushed it up again with a bit of red tape at the edge of the ten-ring.
"You're right. The sights are off."
"These, I like," Patel said.
* * * *
Valentine had announcements that called an evening meeting in one of the rec centers, but the meeting wasn't as crowded as Valentine would have liked. The basketball courts in the rec center could have held a thousand people, with more in the stands, but he got only a few hundred, and many of them were women with children.
Valentine didn't see a single person in the two-tone overalls or outfits. He wasn't that surprised. A former Quisling could expect an instant death sentence if found bearing arms against the Kurians.
"You should have advertised free beer," Patel said, sotto voce.
"I'm looking for volunteers to go back into the Kurian Zone," Valentine announced. "To go back fighting. This time with an army of our people. I don't need riflemen so much as facilitators-people who know the locals and can interact with them."
Valentine saw a few at the back slip out and head for the washrooms or the exits.
"Service grants you all the benefits of OFR citizenship, pension benefits, retirement allotment, and combat service bonuses.
He was flopping. He felt the sweat running down his back. "Anyone interested, join Sergeant Major Patel here on the bleachers. We'll come around and get your information, meet, answer questions. Then we'll let you know in the next day or so if you'll be called back for a physical and a second interview."
A man with a Riceland cap laughed as the crowd dispersed. He smiled at Valentine and touched his cap. "First rule, johnny soldier, is don't volunteer for nothing. Goes same in Free Territory."
They got eleven. Valentine could tell right off that he wouldn't want three of them-way too young or far too old. They took down the details of them all anyway.
Later, over the duck and rice and a couple of beers Patel had had the foresight to buy as the day went south, Valentine looked over the "applications." They'd had to fill out the blanks for the four illiterates-well, they could write their names, but that was about it.
"Six or eight, depending on the physical," Valentine said in the dim light of the cramped trailer kitchen. "We might get another couple dozen out of the militia in training, and that's if we don't restrict it to those from Kentucky and Tennessee. Southern Command's already got the pick of the men passing through here. The ones eager to fight have already joined up."
"The only two I really liked were those Quislings on the rifle range," Patel said.
"I think those will be our first corporals," Valentine said.
"God help us," Patel said, reaching for two more beers. That was one nice thing about the prefabricated trailer home. You only had to turn around to reach the fridge.
* * * *
Patel was slow getting up. He'd flex his legs and then get up on one elbow. Then he'd swing his legs down and raise and lower each shoulder.
Valentine brought him some hickory coffee. Though moving coffee beans between Kurian Zone and Free Territory wasn't illegal, at least as far as the UFR was concerned-just dangerous-and "smug-glers" saw to it that such luxuries were available, Valentine couldn't afford the price. The only thing stimulating about the hickory coffee was the temperature.
