Winter Duty Read Online Free Page B

and wishing them luck, they’d pushed their worms on through the cold until death was assured for their mounts. Without a group of others of their kind to coil with, in a knitted cocoon to protect the fall’s eggs, the frost would take them like delicate fruit.
    “These two are goners, I think,” Dorian said as they made their good-byes. He’d been quiet ever since shooting six of Blitty Easy’s Crew on that wild, clear night.
    “We’ll compensate you and your father somehow,” Valentine said, signing an order and tearing it off from his dwindling sheaf of blanks.
    “Wish they could give me back that night. The one with the shooting.”
    Valentine felt for the young man. Dorian had stepped across a terrible threshold far too young.
    “You followed orders and did what had to be done, Dorian,” Valentine said. “Better than thirty people are going to live to a fine old age because you’re a good shot. Remember that.”
    The youth nodded dumbly, and his father nudged him back toward the high saddles.
    Duvalier embraced him with one of her characteristic hugs, half handshake and half lover’s embrace. She nuzzled the bristle on his chin.
    “I’ll see that they get back all right. Any orders for me back in Henderson?”
    “Be careful. I think if the Kurians move on us, it’ll be from the Ordnance. You could check the rail lines up that way.”
    “Can do,” she said.
    “I won’t be gone long. I’m just going to give my report, see about supply and replacement, and return.”
    She slipped away as though bored with the good-bye, and Valentine returned to supervising the river embarkation.
    Javelin had left Southern Command with bands playing and people cheering and tinfoil on their heads.
    Its wounded returned under cover of darkness, hauled across the Mississippi in some of Southern Command’s Skeeter Fleet—twin-engined outboards ready to make wake at the first sign of trouble.
    No crowds met them on the western shores, just a deputation from Forward Operating Base Rally’s commander at the edge of the Missouri bootheel.
    Colonel Pizzaro looked incredulous when Valentine announced that he’d been returned with fresh from a hard-fought victory in Western Kentucky. Valentine handed over a sealed report to Southern Command from Colonel Bloom, now in command of what was left of the expedition to the Appalachians.
    “Don’t be stingy with the steaks and beer,” Valentine said. “They walked a hard trail. They deserve a few luxuries with their laurels.”
    Pizzaro cleared his throat. “Tell me, Valentine. Don’t hold back. How bad was it over there? Papers are playing it down or calling it a catastrophe.”
    “Could have gone better,” Valentine said. “But it wasn’t a disaster. We’ve gained allies, just not where we expected. I’d call it a major victory for the Cause.”
    “He’s a good man, but kind of an oddball,” one of Pizzaro’s staff said to a corporal in a voice he probably thought too quiet for Valentine to hear. “Always full of fancy ideas about working with Grogs and stuff.”
    Pizzaro snorted. “Victory? Not according to the Clarion headlines. Or are you aiming for a nice long rest somewhere quiet with lots of watercolor paint?”
    “It was a win for the good guys, Colonel.”
    “You’re selling that at headquarters?” Pizzaro asked. “I wish you luck.”

CHAPTER TWO
    S outhern Command Mississippi Operational Area Headquarters, the second week of November: The architects who designed the Mall at Turtle Creek in Jonesboro would still recognize their structure, though they’d be surprised to see some of the renovations caused by war and necessity.
    One of the anchor stores has been hollowed out and turned into a vast machine shop for the repair and renovation of valuable electronics, and the rest of the big box stores serve as warehousing. The smaller shops have been converted to training classrooms, meeting areas, offices, break rooms, a medical center with a pharmacy,