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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.
Whoever made this mix put just enough of the real thing in to remind you what it wasn't.
"I was thinking we could try having breakfast in that probation camp," Valentine said.
"You think we will do better with the Quislings," Patel said, massaging and rotating his knees. He paused, reached for the cup, and downed half his steaming coffee-his throat must be tough as his leathers, Valentine decided-and held out the mug for a refill.
The Quislings ate in an oversized Quonset hut. Every word, every clunky of cup being set upon table, every scrap of knife and fork in a tray was magnified and bounced around by the curving walls as though the diners were musicians in a concert shell. Valentine tried to turn off his ears.
Valentine looked across the group-mostly men; there were far fewer women and children in this group-with something like hunger. These specimens were straighter, fleshier, longer of limb, and more alert of eye. Some wore tool belts or had hard hats dangling from nearby hooks; others read or did crosswords over the remains of their breakfast. He shifted his feet and cleared his throat.
"Could I have your attention please?" Valentine said.
He'd misjudged the volume required. His words were lost in the breakfast clatter and chatter.
"Oi!" Patel shouted. Patel's voice was like a mortar round exploding beside him. It almost blew him out of his boots. "Who wants to kill a few Kurians?"
The room quieted admirably as better than a hundred faces turned their way in interest.
* * * *
"Sorry, but you can't have 'em," Felshtinsky said from his office wheelchair early the next morning. He pushed the names of the probations back across his desk at Valentine and Patel, seated opposite.
"Why?" Valentine asked.
"Ex-Kurian Forces aren't allowed to just leave Liberty whenever they want. They have to be cleared by Southern Command."
"If you just need a signature, I'll take responsibility," Valentine said.
"Sorry, it's not that simple. I can't release them to you."
"What if General Lehman's HQ signs off for them?"
"It's not just Southern Command. The civilian authority has to sign off on them as well."
"Which civilian authority?" Valentine asked.
"Interstate Security Office."
