* * * *
Like a close-fought battle, or a football match where the lead changes hands, the issue hung in doubt until the next morning, when once again the water stabilized. Then it fell, at a pace that could almost be measured with the naked eye.
"I wonder if something gave way farther down the river?" Post said, eating bread and cheese with dirty fingers as they sat together on a ready pile of sandbags.
"Some old Corps of Engineers dike," Valentine said. "Or Pine Bluff landing is underwater now." He was too tired to care about the whys; all that mattered were me whats. And the big what was that the water was going down.
The men were asleep in the mud all around, heads cushioned on sandbags or backpacks. The scattered groups of prisoners slept in huddles, like wallows full of pigs.
"You going to check on Styachowski, sir?"
"We should see about reorganizing the men. Work out some shifts. Wish we'd get some fresh bodies from the other side of the river."
Post stretched his arms and yawned. "They have problems of their own. The River Rats are flooded out."
"River Rats? I've heard that before, somewhere."
"The boatmen who work the barges and small craft. They've got a little town over there, from what they tell me. A couple of bars, music and girls included, a slop-house. Bona fide red-light district, sounds like. Some of the other soldiers go across for a good time, or to do a little black-market trading. They smuggle, too, of course."
"The soldiers or the River Rats?"
"Both, I suppose."
"I was wondering where Xray-Tango got his coffee," Valentine said. "Being in the Caribbean spoiled me. I've got a taste for the stuff, now."
"I'm ready to go back," Post said. "You're probably right. I'll never find her."
"Southern Command's not dead yet. There's Styachowski to think of, too."
"Go check on her, if you like. Ahn-Kha and I'll hold the dike."
* * * *
Styachowski was asleep, her leg already in a cast, and after speaking to a nurse about her Valentine made himself comfortable. She was the only one occupying a bed in the infirmary; the real field hospital was on the other side of the river, in the old library. The nurses were keeping busy bandaging bashed fingers and wrapping sprains. A ruptured man groaned as the doctor probed his crotch.
Valentine made the mistake of putting his feet on her bed. The next thing he knew he was being kicked in the leg.
"Colonel," Styachowski said. "You're snoring."
He massaged the bridge of his nose until his eyes felt like focusing again. "Is it light out? How's the pain?"
"Better. They gave me a shot and I went out like a light. Codeine or morphine, I think. It's morning now. We're still in the dispensary, so I guess the levee held."
"The water was receding last night."
"New Columbia lives."
His stomach growled. "Aren't they going to feed you something? Wait, I'll go myself."
After retrieving bread, honey, and some kind of cooked cereal from the headquarters kitchen, he returned to Styachowski.
"You broke a leg once, sir?"
"No. It wasn't for lack of trying."
"You limp. I thought maybe-"
"An old wound. Line of duty."