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"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.
"Mister Valentine. I've read about you on several occasions, as I recall. You're just the man I want to see about my venture into Kentucky."
She said the word "Mister" with such polite friendliness, he had no business correcting her. But her use of the word "venture" put Valentine on his guard. Was she some kind of wildcatter with an eye toward opening up a trade in legworm leather?
"I have here, Mister Valentine, a letter from the president himself. President Starpe was a good friend of my late husband's. He dined on our ranch on three occasions while in office and was a frequent visitor before."
She reached into her hacking jacket and removed a folded manila envelope. The letter within had a foil seal over a red-and-blue ribbon, with the outgoing presidential signature and a notation indicating it had been transcribed by his personal secretary.
After noting that it was simply addressed to "Officer, executive, or mariner commanding" and contained some polite words of thanks, Valentine read to the meat of the letter.
Please offer whatever aid and assistance to Mrs. Bethany O'Coombe you consider practical. The retrieval and return of any and all of our wounded left behind on last summer's retreat would be, in my opinion, invaluable to our cause as well as the morale of the forces of Southern Command.
Mrs. O'Coombe is a personal friend of mine. She can be trusted with Southern Command information and materiel relevant to her plans, and her signature would be accepted on any equipment voucher if she requests the use of any device or machine. I would consider it a singular favor for you to offer her any assistance that does not materially endanger your other duties.
A crusader. Valentine had seen a few in his time, dedicated to relieving Southern Command of the evils of drink or the dangers of professional women and syphilis. This woman was clearly here to do more than give a few speeches, take a few oaths, or show some slides of tertiary cases. Were these vehicles a specialized medical train to care for the few wounded that remained in Fort Seng's small hospital?
"I would be delighted to accommodate you, Mrs. O'Coombe. Please tell me, how may I be of service?"
She looked around before answering. "I understand that during the battles of this summer, some wounded were left behind with such of our Kentucky allies who could be trusted with their safety. I would like to help recover them. From what I understand of your expertise, Mister Valentine, you have a good deal of experience going in and getting people out of difficulty. I've hoped that you could aid me from the first I heard."
"Why here, Mrs. O'Coombe? As a Texan, I'd think you'd be more interested in the Rio Grande Valley. More troops were involved in that action, I believe. I suspect there are more wounded scattered around southern Texas than we have here. We had the advantage of legworms, you see. All but our worst cases could be moved while remaining in their beds-or hammocks, rather."
"I have a personal interest, Mister Valentine. I recently learned my son was among those left behind as your column retreated from the mountains." Her gaze wavered a little, and Valentine saw what he suspected to be tears. "I have come to get him back. I should like you to guide me across Kentucky. As you're the one who left our soldiers scattered across the Cumberland, I expect you would be the one best able to help me retrieve them."
Frat stiffened a little at that.
