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"Experience has shown the Kurians tempt us into rashness, throwing away our best and brightest on these wild ventures. They are like cats, luring the mice out of their holes where they can be swatted."
"Be sure to call Gamecock's Bears a bunch of mice, next time you see them," Valentine said. "But give me some warning, so I can watch."
"Now, Major," Brother Mark put in. "Rashness or boldness, by your definition, depends on the outcome."
"For two men who've left bodies from here to the Appalachians, you're both rather cocky," Grace said. "I'd expect a little more humility from people who'd killed off half a brigade."
"I notice you're still around, Grace," Valentine said. "Never made it on any of the lists for best and brightest?"
Grace purpled about the face. "That's a court-martial-"
"We run things a little different out here, Major. Anyone can talk about anything off their feet and out from beneath cover."
"I've never once seen you in a hat, on or off base," Grace said. "Seems very unmilitary."
"I've never seen you off base. Stealthy for a big guy."
"Sir," the communication tech reported. "Observation D reports two scout cars moving south on highway D. Georgia markings."
"D," Valentine said. That was the overgrown highway going back north, to their transport and the Gunslingers.
Duvalier was up and alert, Brother Mark puffing up behind.
"Well, they discovered us," Valentine said. "Just not when we wanted them to."
The radio chirped again.
"Handshake," said the communications corporal, giving a clear connection password. He listened.
"Sir, we've got word from transport hitch," the tech said. "They were spotted by some armored cars."
"That settles it," Valentine said. "This could work to our advantage. We've got to get our hands on those cars."
"Val, I can do it," Duvalier said.
"I'm coming with."
"With that bum leg of yours? And you're the shittiest driver under eighty I've ever seen."
"I'll land on the good one. I want to capture the car, not drive it."
"I'll take the first," Duvalier said. "That way, when you fall off, I won't have to hang on while they swerve to run you over."
"Do you let your civilians talk to you that way?"
Valentine turned over command of Vendetta to Frat. If things went south with the cars, the camp might very well turn out anyway to hunt the road. He gave a nod to Pellwell and reached to clap her on the shoulder. "Don't worry, your critters will get their chance, but not with these."
They hurried to the old highway. It was so overgrown it was practically a tunnel, but vehicles with toothy brush cutters had cleared the worst of it recently, exposing a broken-up roadbed like coral. The worst holes had been filled with sand and gravel.
They climbed trees with big branches hanging over the road, and waited.
They heard the armored cars long before they saw them.
The noise resolved itself into humps of metal kicking up the dust of crushed Kentucky limestone used for evening out the broken old highway.
Valentine brought up his binoculars.
They were a pair of armored cars-armored farm equipment, more like. They weren't designed like urban armored cars, built to rush to a trouble spot and survive the cinder blocks and kerosene of rioters. These were serious off-road brush-crushers, with wedgelike fronts and six fat tires. Towed trailers, a little higher than the armored cars, made them look like ants at a distance. Blue-black paint, chipped here and there, alternately caught and absorbed the sun.
