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They held a final meeting in the command caboose of the fast train. A chalkboard with a tracing of the eastern spur of the Grog Express was filled with the latest information about the expected schedule and the distribution of the population and soldiers between the trains.
On a sideboard, the Gray Baron's expensive array of ports and whiskeys had been cleared away and replaced with heartroot, nuts, and strawberries, plus the inevitable instant lemonade common to every Kurian Order organization Valentine had ever visited.
Old sweat clung inside his uniform. He wanted a shower, badly, but a sponge and a basin would have to do, and even that could wait until the Express was moving.
Duvalier stood in front of the chalkboard, looking like a small mannequin displaying the wrong-sized coat, examining the time-tables with her arms crossed.
"Forty miles in three days with this bunch is pushing it," she said. "We'll be crawling at foot pace."
Frat was there, along with a human engineer who wanted out at Saint Louis, Ahn-Kha and a messenger Golden One, Duvalier, Stockard, and Pellwell, the last because she and her ratbits were already designated to ride in the command car.
"Who cares if we're slower than shit," Frat said. "With those big bastards properly armed, nobody's going to mess with us, at least nobody who can concentrate in time."
"We'll move in shifts," Valentine said. "Apart from those riding full-time, we'll stop every three hours to let a few hundred rest."
"A drop in the bucket when you're talking about ten thousand-," Duvalier said.
"Nine thousand two hundred and seven, though we might see a birth very soon," Ahn-Kha corrected. "With enough water it can be done. Water is the key."
Which led to a technical discussion about the conversion of a pair of ten-thousand-gallon diesel tank cars to carry water.
Pregnant females, mothers of infants would ride in some comfort in the barracks cars.
"One problem remains," Valentine said. "Already, there are probably phones ringing in various Iowa headquarters about the silence from Gray Stronghold. If we could keep up some radio chatter, the usual business traffic between here and Iowa ... I wouldn't want to be in the coms bunker when the next Grog patrol comes in, under the Baron's officers."
"I'll do it, sir," Stockard said. "I've been trained on coms procedure."
"Thought you wanted to come with us, Captain? Get back to your son?"
"Yes. Very much. But having someone staying back, manning the radio will increase your chances that much more. They know my voice in Iowa. I've pulled my share of shifts in the com bunker."
"As long as you don't flip back to the Iowa side," Duvalier said. "A guy could win a brass ring, letting them know what happened and where we're headed. Once a Quisling-"
"Enough of that," Valentine said.
"You're too quick to judge," Frat said, glaring.
"I've been my own judge, jury, and executioner out there often enough," Duvalier said. "I don't trust. That's why I'm still around."
"Time is fleeing," Ahn-Kha said. "Perhaps we can bicker once we are on the waters of the Mississippi."
Valentine was tempted to ask Duvalier if she'd stay. Of all of them, she could be relied on to press, but not extend her luck. She knew Missouri well, and could either make a fast break for the Mississippi, get to Saint Louis, or take the short route back to the Wolves in the hills to the south and then make her way back to Kentucky at leisure.
Provided her health held up. She'd been limping, and her stomach wasn't keeping much down.
Then again, she didn't know radio procedure, and there were few women in the Gray Baron's command. Best to leave it to an experienced hand. But Valentine still wanted to give Stockard an out.
Valentine reached for a handful of nuts. His stomach was gurgling and suspiciously unhungry. "Nothing has to go down on paper about the circumstances of you rejoining Southern Command, Graf," he said. "On the report you'll be just another prisoner of the Grogs who was brought out with the Golden Ones."
"My son thinks his father's a hero," Stockard said. "If I make it back to him, I'd like to do it being able to call myself that as well. I'll stay. Leave me a bicycle?"
"Frat, scare him up some transport and fuel. Double- and triple-check it."
"No, a bike's fine," Stockard said. "I was in the bike troops in the Guard, back in the day. I still do it for exercise. Motors get noticed by our Gray friends on both sides of the Missouri River."
Ahn-Kha leaned over and whispered something in Stockard's ear. His homely face took on a shy smile.
"I'll stay as well. Two can travel more safely than one," Frat said, trying various field jackets of the Baron's troops. "I took a good look at your prisoner and heard a few words from him. Short of one of them showing up in person, I should be able to confuse the issue for those wandering into camp." He pulled a slouch hat on low and stared into Valentine's eyes. For just a second, he shimmered and Valentine saw the Baron's eyes and Pancho Villa mustache.
