Thunderbird clacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, thinking. "I don't think I have a slot for you at your former rank. But we might find a job for you and that gizmo you flew in on".
"As you wish", Valentine said. "It'll be good to be back on a team again".
"Then you can satisfy my curiosity, Valentine. Why did you come all the way here? You could have made yourself useful in Denver, Wyoming, even the Caribbean, and saved yourself a lot of mileage. Why us?"
"You're winning", Valentine said.
"Damn right we are", Walker put in. "And we'll keep winning, as long as the Lord sees fit".
The old man bowed his head, and Valentine saw his lips moving silently.
"We'll give you an orientation later. I want a detailed debriefing first".
They sat down and Walker brought in coffee. For forty-five minutes or so they talked, much more conversational than interrogatory. They were especially interested in his trips to the Caribbean and the exact circumstances of his court-martial and conviction under the Fugitive Law. "Typical", Thunderbird said. "They want victory. Just don't like the color of the coin that'll pay for it". Afterward they took a short break, and Valentine saw Thunderbird pick up the phone.
Later they talked to Gide, and Valentine idled in the hall. Her interview was much shorter.
"Term in the militia", she said. "I guess it's a start for us".
Valentine went back into the classroom, where Thunderbird was on the phone again. "Yeah, that's right.
I want everything north of Woodinville Road cleared. They think Redmond's next, but we'll pull back and slide the Action Group north". He looked at Valentine. "Yes?"
"My friend Gide. I was hoping we'd be able to stay together".
"We'll pick this up in ten", Thunderbird said into the phone. He hung it up. "She's a natural. And a woman besides. No room for her with the Bears of Delta Group".
"She and I..."
Tok tok, his tongue sounded. "Something warm to come home to?"
"More like mutual affinity".
"Better check the true-love meter again. She sounds eager to serve, with or without you. If you want a slice of something juicy, Delta Group gets their pick, believe me. Tell you what, I'll get her posted near our operations HQ. She'd just be a short walk away. Fair enough?"
"More than", Valentine said, wondering why his stomach was going sour.
He picked up the phone. "See you on the other side of the mountains, Valentine".
ern Washington, May: Most people thinly of the Pacific Northwest as a cloudy, rainy woodland, fragrant with the moldy, rotting-pine smell of a temperate rainforest. But beyond the rain-catching Cascades, the eastern plains of Washington have more in common with the high plains of the Midwest than the foggy harbors of salmon fleet and crab boat.
Wolves trot through the open country in the summer, pursuing the prolific western antelope, retreating to the river-hugging woods when winter comes.
The former ranching and orchard country of the dry half of Washington is sparsely inhabited but frequently patrolled for reasons unique to this part of the country. A few Kurian outposts, fed by rail lines running up from Utah and Oregon or in from Idaho, circle their lands with towers like teeth, easily visible from the air thanks to the irrigation technology still in use. But these are the terminal ends, for nothing but one Grog-guarded set of rail and highway line runs up the Pacific coast, thanks to the highly effective, organized guerrilla army under their "Mr. Adler".
* * *
The Osprey-style jump jet touched down on an empty stretch of highway, cutting over a high, dry plateau. The Cascades ran in a blue line in the distance, darkening as the sun descended to meet them. Valentine, ears popping in the change of pressure, drank a final pint of milk in memorial to Hornbreed.
It felt like a long flight, and ended with several low passes to find a suitable stretch of road for landing. Valentine had grown used to
short training hops in his time with the autogyro, gliders, and small training craft. The jet, a courier craft for high-level Quislings, was plushly appointed beyond anything Valentine had ever experienced and had ample space in the cargo bay for the autogyro, with its rotators folded away. He rode in the cockpit for an hour or two, listening to Starguide's stories of Utah and Nevada.
"That's right, a big chunk of the Salt Lake City folks just disappeared, almost overnight. Some say they all marched up a mountain and killed themselves. Others say they went to another world. I think it's kinda both - Mormons always were weird", he said as they viewed the Great Salt Lake from fifteen thousand feet.
After a refueling stop at a combination armory and coal-processing plant, featuring the first Grogs Valentine had seen since coming West, they took the rest of the hop up to Washington. The jet had enough in its tanks to make it back to Utah.
"I don't believe it. We're out", Gide said. She'd regained the color she'd lost when they hit turbulence leaving Utah.