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"What's with all this?"
That was the kind of quality manpower that pulled duty on New Year's Eve. Only after Valentine prodded the corporal with his barrel did the Quisling realize what was going on.
He made them the same offer he did the others.
They cooperated.
Valentine snipped the telephone wires, hoping that if it activated a trouble alarm, there wouldn't be enough New Year's staff to investigate right away. He and set Rollings to work unscrewing the station's radio from the shelf at the com desk. They did a quick sweep of the building while the Wolves watched both ends of the road, and then started looking through the armory.
The river patrol had good gear, including rocket-propelled grenades that Corporal Glass looked over and selected. Valentine found a case of four Type 3s-that had been the weapon issued to his Razors by Solon, who'd evidently had a bigger budget than the river patrol. The small arms were a little disappointing, mostly cut-down versions of the venerable M16. On the other hand, there was a plentitude of small support machine guns that could be carried or fixed to a boat mount. Most of the weapons were packed in protective lubricant-it would take hours to clean them-so the platoon would have to get back with what they brought.
They ended up filling two truck trailers with boxes of weapons and ammunition and other assorted pieces of lethality, plus as much com gear and medicines as they could find. As Valentine and Patel supervised the loading, the assigned drivers checked the tires and tested the lights and horns on their vehicles.
The men rode in the beds of the camouflaged service trucks with the prisoners secured to floor bolts. They'd even liberated some walkie-talkies so the drivers could communicate with each other. Condensed and dehydrated foodstuffs and extra gear was piled in bags hanging off the back and strapped to the hoods.
They even took the dog. Valentine didn't mind; he liked dogs. Though it was heartbreaking if you had to eat them.
As they pulled out and bumped west, witch fingers of tree branches scratched the sides of the truck.
In the dark, with the roads potholed and washed out, they couldn't go much faster than a man could trot. Patel had the Wolves lope ahead and behind, scouting and checking for pursuit.
All that marked their departure was noise, and that only briefly. A siren started up from the armory as soon as they were out of sight.
"What you figure that signifies, Major?" the man at the wheel asked.
"We'll find out soon enough," Valentine said.
Valentine shifted the machine pistol to his lap and checked the soldier's rifle and the bandolier resting on the dash. He and this version of Southern Command's single shot breechloaders were old, conflicted friends dating back to his days in the Labor Regiment. It was a fine gun, accurate with stopping power sufficient to knock a Reaper off its feet, if you didn't mind having to reload every time you fired a round.
Valentine opened the glass panel between the cabin and the back of the truck.
"Someone ask our prisoners what that noise is," Valentine said over the truck's protesting suspension.
"Alarm, sir."
"Was there someone there they didn't tell us about?"
Valentine waited a moment while Patel asked a few questions.
"Could be a gargoyle, Major. They overfly the area all the time. One might have seen the trucks leave. Could be he flew down to investigate. Gargoyles are smarter than harpies."
They're also smart enough to guide in a few Reapers.
Valentine opened the truck door, checking that he wouldn't be swept off, or worse, by the branches ahead. He searched the night sky.
The glare of the following truck's headlights made it difficult to see.
"Kill the lights," Valentine said to his driver, dropping back into the cab.
"Pass back to the following truck: Kill the lights," Valentine said to Patel. Patel lifted a brand-new walkie-talkie from the armory and spoke into it.
With the lights out on the rear truck, Valentine tried again, duck-ing under a branch that snapped and snipped as it broke along the truck's side.
A shadow hung behind the trucks, following the road. A shadow that closed in on itself, thickening as it followed their vehicles.
Harpies. Dirty, flapping-
Valentine wondered what they were carrying, apart from ugly. He wondered if the theoretical gargoyle had sent them after the trucks. They had enough cunning to know something was wrong and that they'd be rewarded for stopping the trucks.
