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Lambert made a coughing sound. Boelnitz eyed his doughnut, hand frozen as though the pastry had magically transformed into a scorpion.
"Don't worry, friend. I call all brother, whatever their affiliation or uniform. My dunkers are wholesome as fresh milk."
Valentine guessed that the man had been living off of doughnuts, fresh milk, and maybe a little rainwater and nutritious sun-and-moonshine for a little too long. His skin had a touch of yellow about it, and the greasy skin on his brow was blotchy. But it just made the eager stare in his eyes more authentic.
"I don't want to sound like I'm threatening you," Boelnitz said. "But aren't you afraid of, uh, street justice, so to speak? Some soldiers don't like Universal Church lectures."
"A missionary must be prepared to take a blow. Die, even, as an example of sacrifice."
"What, you give out pamphlets with the doughnuts?"
"No, though I have some literature if you'd like to read it. I have some good stories, written as entertainment, but they contain valuable lessons for today's questioner."
"Today's questioner is tomorrow's dinner, if he's not careful," Valentine said.
The missionary's face slid carefully into neutral. "Every potter's field has its share of broken shards. The just have nothing to fear. All this violence is wrong, wrong, brother. You Arkansas and Texas boys are a long way from home. Why not go back? The only land in Kentucky you'll ever claim is a grave if you continue down this path."
"Thanks for the doughnut," Valentine said. "It was delicious."
They checked in at the sentry post. Valentine nodded to the effusive "welcome backs" and signed in Boelnitz as an unarmed civilian. They issued the reporter a temporary ID. The men looked like they were willing to issue Lambert something else entirely. She was fresh and bright rather than thin and road-worn like the women of Javelin who'd made the long round-trip.
Lambert spoke up. "As a civilian you'll have to stay out of headquarters unless escorted. If you've written stories you need to transmit, just give them to me or the acting exec."
"I know security procedure," Boelnitz said. "All I need to be happy is a bed with a roof over my head. I hate tents."
"We'll see what we can do."
Lambert passed her reassignment orders to the corporal on duty to inspect.
"You have seniority on Colonel Bloom, sir," he said, tapping her months-in-rank line item.
"I'm not here to turn the camp upside down."
The pleasant walk through the woods to the headquarters building was fueled by a sugar rush from the honey and dough. Valentine's pack felt lighter than it had all day.
"Speaking of security," Boelnitz said, "that fellow outside the gate seems like a security risk. He's positioned to count everyone going in and coming out."
"The Kurians aren't usually that obvious," Valentine said. "I think he's just a nut, convinced that if he does something crazy enough long enough, the Kur will reward him with a brass ring."
"No harm treating him like a spy," Lambert said. "Best thing in the world is an agent with blown coverage who doesn't know he's unmasked. We can feed him all sorts of information. Low-grade stuff that's true for a while and then, when we really need it, false data to cover for a real operation."
"Voice of experience?" Boelnitz said. "Your operations in Kansas and the whole Javelin thing didn't work out that well."
"You don't know about the ones that were successful," Lambert said, shooting a wink Valentine's way.
The wink put a spring in Valentine's step. Lambert had been sullen and listless during the walk up. He'd been wondering at her state of mind, seeing herself cast into one of Southern Command's ash heaps. The river trip was just that, a trip. Now she must have felt like she'd washed up in a forgotten corner of the war against the Kur.
Seeing her energy and good humor return relieved him. Perhaps she'd just been anxious at having nothing to occupy her mind, the way a mother duck without any active ducklings to line up didn't quack or fuss.
A trio of soldiers on their way out of camp met them on the road. They straightened up and saluted in recognition of Lambert's eagle. Valentine could see that they had questions, but he waved them off at the first, "Excuse me, Major, is there any truth-"
"Can't talk in front of our new press representative," Valentine said.
"Battle Cry finally got around to sending a man over the river?"
"Not yet. Men, this is Mr. Boelnitz from the The Bulletin. You can call him Pencil if you like."
One of the soldiers asked what The Bulletin was.
