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Still, it struck Valentine as odd that he'd made major. Especially major in a forward area. Southern Command kept all but the most secretive drunks in quieter areas until they either sobered up or their health gave out.
"We supply ourselves by trading with the Groggies," Brostoff said. "There's a good supply of root beer mix, always ready to send north. As long as we don't shoot at each other, root beer flows north and lamb chops, 'shrooms, and spuds come south."
Valentine sipped his root beer-the old Southern Command syrup, a legacy of some boggy old general who believed that the men built stills to brew alcohol because there were no quality soft drinks available. Brostoff drank artificial lemonade, a popular Kurian Zone beverage that Valentine suspected was generously seasoned with bad vodka. At least he tossed it down as if in a hurry to have it hit his stomach in the same manner he'd used as a younger man in Zulu company. Though in those days his hand didn't shake when he set the glass back down again.
"My team needs to get to wherever those Golden Ones have been taken, sir. The sooner the better," Valentine said.
"Wish I had a couple of scout cars or a good truck, but all our wheels have been put into reserve," Brostoff said, topping off his glass. "You know, they used to have a plane at this post, back in the day, after we captured Dallas and those airfields in North Texas. I looked it up on the old base TOEs. There was talk of flying out to Colorado for talks with the Legendaires-the 4th Division. See if we could meet up mid-Kansas. I would have liked to have seen that. Now the 4th could be in Kansas City, Kansas, calling for help, and I'd have to sit on my hands and patrol the security zone. Defensive stance my right nut."
"How about a guide?"
Brostoff downed his tumbler and belched. He winked at Valentine. "I can do better than that, Val. I'll get you a couple of Cats to take you there. Cats don't pay no attention to the Defensive Stance any more than the Bears do."
Scheier and Jarvis were both impossibly young for Cats, to Valentine's eyes.
Scheier, small and dark and pinched, looked to be older by a year or two and talked as though she were vastly senior to Jarvis, though Valentine doubted there was more than a year's difference between them. Perhaps the extra attitude made up for the fact that Jarvis was a full head higher. Jarvis reminded him of the big, strong milk-fed farm girls of Wisconsin. She even bound her head in a red handkerchief like a teen setting off to do the morning milking.
Being Cats, they both wore civilian attire, or at least what a sensible civilian moving among the Grogs might wear. Heavy canvas, layers of flannel, and some discreet padding at the knees, elbows, and shoulders offered a little protection under vented leather jackets.
They took Valentine's team north in a series of careful quick-marches. Sometimes they moved by day, others by night. Valentine approved of the care they took in open country, careful to never skyline themselves and keeping well in the trees whenever possible.
The march was tough on Pellwell, however. She was still basically a civilian, and for all the power in her wiry body, she exhausted easily and finished her meals too quickly.
"The shorter the rations, the longer you chew," Chieftain suggested during a morning meal of a toasted, doughy paste and some young heartroot Ahn-Kha had dug up from an old Grog campsite.
He rarely saw their two guides together. One always remained behind "babysitting" as he heard them whisper, while the other scouted, scrounged, foraged, explored, or picked out the next four-hour dash for safety.
Valentine had killed his first Reaper when their guides were practicing their handwriting on a blackboard. Babysitting, indeed.
Valentine discreetly inquired of Duvalier whether she knew anything about the pair.
"They came up after me," Duvalier said. "I'm pretty sure they're both second-generation true breeds."
"Second-"
"Daughters of other Cats, trained by Cats. When the Lifeweavers hid themselves when the Free Territory was overrun, we had to make do. Maybe they don't quite have our skills, but youth and confidence is still on their side. When more Lifeweavers come, I hope the first thing we do is train more Cats. You should start looking around the command and see who you want to bring in to the family."
Duvalier had faith that the Lifeweavers were off starting another freehold and would return at the first opportunity. She believed in their return like some Christians expected the Second Coming to sweep away the Kurian Order.
"If you're a human who wants to get up Iowa way, you need to know the Scrubmen."
"Scrubmen?" Valentine asked.
"They're mostly kids of slaves from the Groglands. A Grog chief can't keep or sell a slave his clan hasn't captured, and most of 'em know better than to bury the newborn like what happens to deformed little baby Groggies. Poor things. If the child's really lucky he gets turned over to the missionaries in Saint Louis, otherwise once he's weaned he gets set loose. Groggies don't know that just because you're off the teat you can't take care of yourself the way a little Grog can, naturally rooting around and hunting."
"I've never run across them. I've been across northern Iowa several times."
"You probably stayed close to the river," Scheier said.
"Yes."
"What do you think of Brostoff?"
Scheier and Jarvis exchanged a look.
"Durndel said you knew him back a whiles," Scheier said. "You tell us if he's changed."
"More whiskey lines," Valentine said.
