by E. E. Knight
"Colonel Bloom, sir. She's been kind of distracted lately. Just like Colonel Jolla at the end. Absent, only half listening."
Valentine bit off a "Are you sure?" Stupid question. He had to act.
"I'll talk to her. Thanks for expressing your doubts, Tiddle."
"Whatever's going on, nip it in the bud now, would you, sir? I don't want to be known as the com officer who's had two commanders shoot theirselves."
* * * *
"I'm not sure we should be in such a hurry to leave," Valentine said, trying to wash down a hunk of legworm jerky and sawdust at the next route-planning meeting.
"How's that now?" Bloom asked.
"After their last try, the Moondaggers seem content to just nudge us along. They haven't made any real attempt to cut us off or even engage. Maybe they're licking their wounds from the last fight."
"Time is on their side, then."
"Not necessarily," Valentine said. "They're used to getting their way, and they're used to shoving around civilians when they don't. The legworm clans, they're not poor Kansas farm collective workers who don't know a rifle from a hoe. These boys can ride and shoot and they don't back down."
"They backed down easily enough back at the union," a Guard captain said.
"Now they're on their own land, though. I remember how startled I was, seeing Quisling uniforms walking around in Little Rock. Made me kind of mad. Felt more like a violation. I'm hoping the legworm ranchers will feel the same way," Valentine said.
"So what of it? They get jacked and take out a few Moondaggers in return. Does that help us?" Bloom asked.
"It gives the Moondaggers a new set of worries," Brother Mark said.
"The Moondaggers will respond the only way they know how. It could grow into a full-scale revolt. There could be advantages to that. Like better supply for us," Valentine said.
Moytana shook his head. "And disadvantages. There's a big garrison in Lexington and another in Frankfort. Right now they seem content to sit and not make waves."
"And the Ordnance, just over the Ohio," someone else added. "They've got a professional army. A lot of Solon's best troops came from there. If the Kurians there think Kentucky is up for grabs, they might make a move."
"We came across the Mississippi to establish a new Freehold," Valentine said, giving the table a rap. "I'd still like to do it. But I want it to be the ranchers' idea, not ours."
"Too risky, Valentine," Bloom said. Javelin's low on everything."
"We win a battle and we might get more local support," Valentine said. "Right now they're just obeying the Moondaggers because they've seen that we aren't doing anything about them."
Bloom glowered. "Pipe down, Valentine. You're dancing toward a line marked 'insubordination.'"
"Sorry, sir," Valentine said, using the soothing tone that always worked with his old Quisling captain on the Thunderbolt.
The rest of the meeting passed with Valentine deep in thought.
He buttonholed Brother Mark as they left to get some dinner and look over the nighttime pickets.
"Is it possible that—that a Kurian agent is manipulating her? Sowing doubt, fear?"
Brother Mark's gaze looked even more droopy. He nibbled at a turnip. "The Kurians and their agents may play with your senses, just as the Lifeweavers do. I suppose you've . . . ahem . . . experienced ..."
"The night I got this," Valentine said, rubbing the side of his face where his jaw hadn't healed right. "Speaking of night, it always seems like she's at her most timid then. Dawn comes up and she's almost her old self."
"Sunlight interferes with their abilities. If it is someone manipulating her, it would be like no agent I've ever heard of, that would put him—or her—on par with a Kurian."
"Then a Kurian—"
"No, they have to see, hear, smell—feel your aura, even, to be the devil whispering in your ear. Though I suppose they could work it through a proxy. Relay their mind through another, just as a Reaper becomes the Kurian when the Kurian is manipulating it."
"I haven't seen anyone touching her. She likes to pat you and slap you, locker room stuff, but that's never when she's making decisions. It's an 'at ease' thing with her to let you know you can relax."
"She's never slapped me," Brother Mark said in a tone that suggested he might enjoy the experience.
Churchmen. You never know.
"Anyway, I can't remember anyone going out of their way to make contact with her," Valentine said.
"Physical contact isn't necessary, you know."
Valentine straightened. "But you said—"
"An aura projects up to, oh, nine feet from the body. You didn't know that?"
"No."
"I saw it on a scanner once, during my education. An aura shows up on certain kinds of electrical detection equipment. It looked a little like the northern lights—ever seen them?"
"Yes, as a boy."
"It's an odd thing. A man missing his arm will still have the aura of his arm. It just looks more like a flipper. He can even move it around, to an extent, by working the muscles that used to work his arm. They could turn up the sensitivity of the equipment and show just how far an aura extends. Fascinating stuff. It's one of the reasons I don't eat cooked food. There's more aura residue clinging to uncooked vegetables."
"You don't say," Valentine said, wondering how to get the Brother back to the subject at hand. "Thank you for continuing my education."
"You weren't wrong—of course the connection is a good deal clearer when there's physical contact."
"How often would the Kurian have to make contact?"
"All I can do is guess. Different Kurians have developed different skills."
"Guesswork, then."
"Every few days. It's like a— Do you know what hypnosis is?"
"I saw a hypnotist once in Wisconsin. He was doing it for entertainment."
"It's like a hypnotic suggestion. Much of it depends on the will of the subject. With a strong-willed individual, I expect there'd have to be contact every day or two."
"Can you detect the connection?"
"Possibly. But I don't think our good commander would appreciate me hovering around her at headquarters, feeling the staff up until the hooded hours. I'd rather not have another noose put around my neck." He tugged at his collar, as if he could still feel the rope's abrasive coil.
"No sense wasting time," Valentine said. "Come to the headquarters tent tor that glop that's passing for coffee. I need to talk to you about visiting the legworm clans anyway. Perhaps you can help with snack table."
Luckily Valentine could lose himself in the detail of his position and his appetite's arousal as the food trays came in. As the nighttime activity commenced, his collection of officers gave Moondagger position reports from the Wolves and a Cat who'd single-handedly dispatched a three-man patrol, keeping one alive for interrogation. Clean bit of work, that. Valentine would talk that up with the companies as he passed through them on the march. Nervous pickets liked to hear that the other side suffered its own devils in the dark.
Bloom listened rather absently. She only spoke once.
"Send that prisoner back to the Moondaggers. Tell them if they'll leave us alone, we'll leave them alone."
A less Bloom-like order Valentine could hardly imagine. She earned her rank during Archangel by taking her company forward, hammering in the morning, hammering in the evening, hammering at suppertime (as the old song went) against Solon's forces at Arkansas Post to cut off the river.
Then there were more mundane announcements such as the discovery of leaking propane tanks in the mobile generator reserve—he'd put his old company on finding more—and the field kitchen was running short of cooking oil and barbecue sauce.
Legworm meat needed lots of barbecue sauce to make it palatable.
Valentine wondered if his opposite number in the Moondaggers was listening to his own briefing, worried over just what had happened to that three-man patrol and dealing with a shortage of hydrogen fuel cells
for the command cars.
Brother Mark made himself useful. After giving his briefing regarding their allies' dwindling enthusiasm, he went about the room with a coffee pot, touching distracted officers and staff and asking for refills. Now and then he shrugged at Valentine or shook his head.
Valentine passed close and noticed that Brother Mark was sweating from the effort.
Tiddle took some catching, but Brother Mark finally managed to corner him and point out that his cuff and elbow were both frayed—Tiddle had spilled his bike with his trick riding. Valentine held his breath—he liked Tiddle.
Brother Mark sighed and shook his head.
"Perhaps it is someone not on the staff," he whispered, patting Red Dog's head as they passed. "Good God," he said, shocked.
"What?" Valentine asked, but he knew.
Brother Mark led him out of the tent. "It's the dog."
"How?"
"I don't know. Perhaps they've made some alteration to the animal, modified its brain. It seems a normal enough dog."
"It's the perfect spy," Valentine said. "It can't give anything away. Dogs won't break under duress and talks."
"You're wrong there, Valentine. I got a flash of something. A little of the Kurian's mind. I broke it off. I've had enough of that to last me more than a lifetime."
"How do we break the dog's hold on her?"
"A strong endorphin response. Alarm, maybe. An orgasm might be perfect."
Valentine could just picture Duvalier's reaction to that bit of line-of-duty cocksmanship. She'd herniate herself laughing.
"Regulations," Valentine said.
"You'll have to come up with something. Perhaps just explaining it to her, so she was conscious of it—"
"If there's some kind of connection between her mind and the Kurian, I'd like to use it, not break it. Play with the dog a little, see if you can get anything."
Brother Mark made himself ridiculous for a few minutes with Red Dog, wrestling and hugging it. Red Dog enjoyed himself and so did the churchman. Those passing in and out of the headquarters tent shrugged.
He returned to Valentine dusty and dirty. Valentine gave orders for Red Dog to be taken around to the sentries for the usual midnight Reaper check.
"What did you get?"
"A sensation. Cool and moist air. A glimpse or two through its eyes. The Kurian is high, over a small town on some kind of aerial tower. Fine view of these Kentucky hills. One odd thing about the town: There are train tracks running right down the center of town along the street. Shops and buildings to either side. Quite odd."
Valentine checked with the Wolves and had word back in ten minutes. There was a town to the north called La Grange that had train tracks running straight through town. Wolves on foot could be there before dawn if they pushed hard.
He had Gamecock alert his Bears.
"Can you just order an operation like this, even as chief of staff?" Brother Mark asked.
"No, I need Bloom's assent."
"I hope you get it."
"I will. I just have to get her back into the fight, somehow."
* * * *
Valentine presented his plans for an attempt to bag the Kurian. He didn't know if the mind manipulating the dog was also directing the Moondaggers, but any chance to take out an aura-hungry appetite would be a blow for humanity.
Bloom listened impassively. "I don't think we should risk it."
Valentine slapped her. Hard.
"What in—"
"That's no way for a leader to talk. Especially not the Cleo Bloom who spearheaded Archangel."
"See here, Mister," she said, bristling.
Valentine's hand became a blur. The slap carried like a gunshot.
"I'm putting you under arrest for assault."
"You've lost your nerve, Bloom. Showing the whites of your eyes. And your teeth. All you need is a gingham dress and we'd have a minstrel show."
She gasped, swung for his jaw. Valentine took the blow. If anything, he was grateful for it.
"You couldn't do Morse code with a tap like that," Valentine said, tasting blood. "Try again, you alley ho."
"Motherfucker" she said, falling on him. They went down and it was a dirt fight of knees and elbows. He covered his face with a forearm as she rained blows down on either side of his head, right-left right-left right-left.
"Woo! Officers fightin'," someone called.
Cleo Bloom stood up, her eyes bright and alive. "Jesus Lord," she panted. "Jesus Lord."
"Feel better, Colonel?" Valentine asked.
Later, they talked about it in the dispensary as a nurse put cold towels on Valentine's bruises and dabbed his cuts with iodine.
"I figured pressure must have been building up in you somewhere," Valentine said.
"I don't remember feeling any kind of presence," she said. "I just had all these doubts all of a sudden. I thought it was because it was the first time I was in command."
"I'm sure that helped," Valentine said. "The Kurians know what they're doing. They attack when someone is most vulnerable. It’s how they fight. No need to beat us if we beat ourselves."
"Boy, when it came out, it was like a firehose. I feel better than I have for weeks. I remember you were saying something about an operation?"
"We found the Kurian's temporary hideout. Dumb luck, really. It's in a unique-looking town, as seen from above. Of course there's a big radio mast, so it makes sense that he would be there."
"And we're waiting for what, exactly?"
"Your orders."
"Given. Let's get this brigade of ours back into the war."
"I'd like permission to accompany the Bears."
"No, I'll send that Duvalier. She's very good, and she knows the country. Besides, I need you here. I was looking at the map, and there's a nice notch in the ridge ahead. We could use a rest from moving, and I think with some flank security we could mess with the pursuit. The thought scared me before, but now I want to take a crack at them. They're so used to us running after brief holding actions, we might catch them strung out."
* * * *
Valentine passed a busy, sleepless night. While Gamecock and Duvalier, guided by a trio of Wolves, headed for La Grange, Bloom turned the brigade and launched an exploratory attack on Moondagger reconnaissance following them up the road.
Then Javelin took a much-needed rest while waiting for the Bears to return. Scavenging parties found green apples and early squash to eat. The fall's first bounty was coming in.
The hours dragged as Valentine experienced the doubts of a man who'd rather be on the job himself sending others into danger. He gnawed on an apple core, reducing it by tiny shavings, waiting for the parties' return. Bee sensed his mood and tried to comb out his hair and pick ticks.
They came in at dusk, one Bear short and Duvalier limping on a twisted ankle.
Gamecock, thick with smoke and dirt, gave a brief report, with Silvertip standing silently behind. Silvertip looked like he'd spent the morning wrestling mountain lions.
"Town had a Moondagger garrison, but they were living it up in the roadhouse at the edge of town," he said. "Sure enough, there was a little Kurian blister on the antenna, made out of whatever crap they use as tenting. They'd camouflaged it like an eagle nest."
Valentine had heard of some kind of specially trained bug that excreted Kurian cocoon.
"No Reapers?"
"The Cat took one jumping from a roof. She gave us the all-clear even with her bum foot. I sent the Bears right for the antenna with demo gear. There were some sentries but we disposed of them with flash-bangs and blades."
Valentine wished he could have been there. Or better yet, peering into the Kurian's eye cluster when it saw the Bears hurrying up.
"Did you blow the nest?"
"Yes, but it ran before then. Went sliding down one of the support wires or whatever you call 'em, suh," Gamecock said. "Gutsy little shit."
"You saw it?"
"No, Silvertip did. A Reaper hauled outta tow
n like he was carrying hot coals. Silvertip managed to trip him up."
Sivertip. Big, brave Bear, that. "Very commendable," Valentine said, wondering if he sounded pompous.
"I don't train my Bears for dumb. Reaper running for the line like that? He looped a satchel charge on him. Of course, the thing animating the Reaper had us on his mind so he didn't notice. It dropped onto the Reaper's head and shoulders—looked like an umbrella collapsing on him."
"Looked back at me with all them eyes," Silvertip said.
"I don't think they're all eyes."
Silvertip shrugged. "Well, anyway, it was watching me take pot shots, carried like a baby with tentacles, when the charge blew. Reaper's head went straight up like a rocket."
"Best stick I ever saw, suh," Gamecock said.
"What happened after that?" Valentine asked.
"We knocked off three more Reapers pretty easy—sprayed fire into their shins and then took them out with explosives. The Moondaggers started tracking us on the way back, but the Wolves got a twist on them. Those boys are cruel but they sure don't know much about fighting."
All that remained was the decision about Red Dog. Valentine had him returned to his old company for a last meal together. He explained the situation and asked for a volunteer to shoot the poor hound.
"The whole brigade likes Red Dog, sir," Rand said. "Not the mutt's fault he's a Kurian spy."
"It's just a dog," Valentine said. "I'll kill it myself." He'd had to kill dogs before. Even gut them and stew them.
Glass stood up. "That Kurian's dead, right? Whatever connection he had is gone."
"Maybe the Miskatonic would want to study it," Rand said.
"It's too much of a risk," Valentine said. "One of you might fall asleep petting him and wake up kissing a fused grenade."
"I'll take the chance, sir," Glass said. "Like the lieutenant said, the Miskatonic should have a look at him. I'm stubborn and Ford and Chevy, well, I don't know that even a Kurian could make them much more confused unless there are bullets flying, food to be eaten, or a she-Grog around."
"What about you?"
"What, sir, 'n have me lose faith in the Cause? That train long since departed. Besides, I'd like to have a word or two with one of those Kurian sucks."
Valentine looked at Red Dog, utterly uncognizant of his peril but evidently just as happy to be with the old company as parked outside headquarters with the engineering gear.