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"If he starts a legal fight, it might be worth someone's while to check his payroll accounts.
When I had Ahn-Kha on my rolls, I kept up-to-date with policy. They're free to hire on or quit, and you have to pay them at least convict rate. According to the Grogs, they never saw so much as a dollar."
"Still not a defense for your behavior," Seng said. "Save it for the enemy."
Valentine smiled at that. Technically he was still a condemned man under Southern Command's fugitive law, though his face had long since been removed from the wanted cabinets.
"Will that be all?"
"No," Seng said. "Lambert told me you were a little unorthodox but effective. Let's work on the effective and cut down on the unorthodox. Why aren't ordinary militia uniforms good enough for your men?"
"You want us to operate in the Kurian Zone. Southern Command militia uniforms might be a bit of a giveaway."
"Still, it's odd," Jolla put in.
"It's an odd unit with an odd role," Valentine said. "Supply in enemy territory, acting as liaison with the local resistance."
Jolla brushed back nonexistant hair with his palm. "Yet from what I've seen, you're training your company like you're part of the hunter battalion."
"You don't object to fitness trials, I hope."
"We'll see what kind of men you have when the real training starts in January," Seng said.
"I'll look forward to seeing what you can do."
* * * *
The guns arrived a few days after the unpleasant meeting. It was hard not to be disappointed.
They viewed them from the back of the wagon rig, three cases of rifles and one of pistols.
A trio of Uzi-style submachine guns were in with the pistols, evidently meant for the officers.
The rest were mostly militia stuff: deer rifles and shotguns and a few venerable AR-15s. In the hands of a company of veteran Wolves, it could be a deadly enough assortment, but he wondered if they'd be heavy, expensive noisemakers in the hands of some of the greener members of his company. It would make familiarization and training a nightmare.
Plus there would be supply difficulties, trying to get everything from buckshot to .358 to
.30-06 to .223 into individual hands.
Patel's cane tapped behind and Valentine turned to see his sergeant major shake his head sadly as he lifted a double-barreled bird gun. "It's like telling the men they can't be trusted with anything better," he said.
Valentine thought a couple of the Remingtons might make a decent sniper rifles, if they could find optics. He had at least six trained scout/snipers out of the Kurian services-they had an easier time sneaking away than most. A shotgun or two distributed to each squad would be handy for urban use. The rest, not much more than rabbit guns, would be better off in the hands of the UFR's young Camp Scouts or backwoods raccoon hunters.
There was nothing to do but hand them out.
"They've got to be kidding," one of the former Quislings in line said. Valentine recognized him as one of the men he'd seen training the militia back at Liberty.
"Mebbe these are just to carry for practice weight, like the shells," another said.
"We should take a trip over to the river patrol reserve armory between the Tennessee and the Mississippi. They don't hardly guard that. Get us some real guns."
Valentine dredged up that last man's name: Robbins-no, Rollings. "Private Rollings.
What's that?"
"Sorry, sir."
"No, you're not in trouble. Come over here."
