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As to the Southern Command forces in Kentucky, the Assembly reasoned that forces at Fort Seng were installed to help Kentucky-and help, to the Assembly's mind, would flow like water through a pipe from Southern Command's little force to Kentucky.
Fort Seng was full of new arrivals.
Valentine thought he was dreaming when he met the first of them as he led his companies back from Owensboro. A handsome young black man in Wolf deerskins emerged from cover at a good overwatch on the highway running east from Henderson to Owensboro.
"Frat," Valentine said. "You can't be-You're Moytana's replacement?" It wouldn't do to hug in front of all the men, so he settled for an exchange of salutes and handshakes.
Valentine hadn't seen him in years, since he'd discovered him in Wisconsin living with Molly Carlson's family. Though they'd never served together beyond the events in Wisconsin, Valentine's recommendation had won him a place in the Wolves.
The commission Frat had earned on his own.
"Major Valentine. Welcome back. We've heard the good news about the vote," he said in a deeper voice than Valentine remembered. He wore lieutenant's bars, and had dark campaign stripes running across the shoulder fabric on his ammunition vest.
Valentine hopped out of the truck, tossing his diaper bag on the seat. He'd decided he liked the bag; he always seemed to be carrying paperwork, and it also comfortably fit a couple of spare pairs of underwear and an extra layer or two in case it turned colder.
Frat eyed the bag. "Heard you were dead, Major."
"I heard the same about you," Valentine said. "Frat," Valentine said again. It wouldn't do to stand dumbstruck, so he fiddled with his glove as he pulled it off. "Lieutenant Carlson, I mean."
"Good to see you, sir."
"Wolf replacements arrived, then?"
"My platoon, from the reserve. We were part of the regimental general reserve. We scouted for the Rio Grande operation, came home dog-tired and thinking, Job well done. Got the bad news once we reached Fort Smith. Men still wanted to go back and volunteered-but they sent us here instead."
"Moytana was a good officer. You can learn a lot from him, even if it's just by a quick changeover briefing and by reading his paperwork. I'll see if I can get a few of his Wolves to remain behind to orient your Wolves."
"Thank you, sir. Actually, I was glad to hear I'll be serving with you. Not exactly again, but . . ."
"I know what you mean. It's good to see you too, Lieutenant."
Valentine wondered why Frat was still only a lieutenant. Of course, he was very young, and the Wolves had nothing higher than colonel, so there were only so many spaces on the rungs to climb.
"I stopped in to see Molly on my way to Jonesboro," Frat said. "She sends her regards. I have a letter from Edward, but, well. . . you know."
"I know." Valentine found himself looking forward to reading it. Strange, that. He had a biological connection to a girl who barely knew he existed, and an invented fiction connecting him to another man's son. Life liked playing jokes with his feelings, rearranging relationships like an old magnetic poetry set.
"I'm not the only new arrival. My platoon guided in some civilians. Well, quasi-civilians, but I'll let herself explain it to you."
Valentine and Frat swapped chitchat the rest of the way back to Fort Seng. Frat made a few inquiries about Valentine's command. There were the most incredible rumors floating around Southern Command about his organization: They were all convicted criminals under death sentence, choosing service instead of the rope, or Valentine had an all-girl bodyguard of legworm-riding Amazons, or he was building a private army of freebooters who were stripping Kentucky like locusts of everything from legworm egg hides to bourbon.
"Southern Command scuttlebutt," Valentine said. "How I miss it."
Back at Fort Seng, Valentine observed some new vehicles in the well-guarded motor lot. The vehicles were an ill-matched set compared to Sime's quick-moving column and looked better suited for extensive off-road operation. They had extra tires and cans marked "diesel," "gas," and "water" mounted on them.
He reported to Lambert first, who only told him that they had a new set of headaches for the battalion but that it might work out to the benefit of the Cause in general and the battalion in particular. Then he drank a large, cold glass of milk-it was goat's milk; cow milk had run out-and went out to observe the arrivals.
They were equally interested in meeting him. Frat offered to introduce him to the visitors.
The gathering looked like a small, well-armed gypsy camp filled with people in neatly mended surplus uniforms that had a sort of broken double ring stitched on the shoulders.
If Valentine had been forced to describe the woman following the corporal walking up to him, he would have said "statuesque." Her face, under a bush hat with the brim stuck up on the left with a jaunty feathered pin, might have been molded alabaster. He put her age as fortyish or a very youthful-looking fifty, though her eyes danced with an ageless sparkle, blue ice on fire. She wore a long leather skirt and steel-tipped jodhpur boots with thick canvas half chaps, and she evidently knew enough about uniforms to pick him out as the ranking officer.
"Visitor in camp, Major," the corporal reported. "Mrs. O'Coombe, with a Southern Command travel warrant."
As Valentine introduced himself, she shook his hand. The almost challenging grip and steady eye contact marked her as a Texan.
Valentine knew the name O'Coombe. The family owned the largest cattle ranch in the United Free Republics-some said it stretched beyond the official borders. Now that he had a name, he even recognized the emblem on their fatigues, the Hooked O-C. They were said to be fabulously wealthy. At least as such things were measured in the Freehold.
