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"Then good luck to you."
"Will that be all, sir?"
She looked at her orders from Southern Command. "They leave it to my discretion over exactly when I turn over command of this post to Colonel Lambert, though I'll maintain operational command of the brigade even while it's based here until it returns across the Mississippi. Seems to me there's just enough wiggle room for me to keep the troops here until you're convinced the base is functioning properly, from hot water to cooking gas to master comm links."
"I'll have a list tomorrow, sir."
"Anything else for me, Valentine?"
He had to choose his words carefully. "I told the truth about what happened, sir. I argued that we won an important victory, even if it wasn't the victory they expected. Southern Command's looking for a scapegoat. I expect they'll make Colonel Lambert and General Lehman take most of the blame. Lehman's being sent to a quiet desk and Lambert's out here. Be ready to answer for us, and for yourself."
"Thanks for the warning."
"Anything else, sir?"
"Is Colonel Lambert in the headquarters?"
"She's walking around . . . incognito, I suppose you could call it. She wanted to get a feel for the men and the place unofficially, before she takes an official role."
"I understand. If you come across her, please ask her if she'd like to have dinner with me tonight."
"Yes, sir. I'll pass the word."
Bloom sat back down to reread her orders, saying a few more words about hoping Lambert wouldn't mind eating late.
As Valentine walked toward his new formation's billet, he saw his hatchet men inspecting the vehicles in the motor pool. Of the long column of vehicles that had started out with Javelin, only one battered old army truck had survived the entire journey out of the large vehicles. The rest had been cannibalized to keep others going or lost to wear, Moondagger rockets, artillery, and mines, or accident. A few civilian pickups, Hummers, and motorcycles remained, looking like candidates for a demolition derby thanks to the knocks and cracks.
"Master Sergeant Brage," Valentine said, pronouncing his name as Braggy.
"It's BRAY-zhe, Major," Brage said, as irritated as Valentine hoped he'd be.
"Sorry, Sergeant," Valentine said. "Why the interest in the motor pool?"
"Orders, sir," Brage said, tapping his chest pocket. "We're to determine what's worth taking and what'll be left behind. My staff and I have final word. Our decisions are final and unalterable."
"I've seen my share of alterations to unalterable. May I see the orders, please?"
He handed them over with the air of a poker player laying down a straight flush.
Valentine read the first paragraph and then went to the next pages and checked the signatures, seals, and dates. He recognized the hand at the bottom.
"My old friend General Martinez. You're on his staff?"
"I have that honor, sir." With a wave, the rest of his hatchet men returned to work.
"Martinez has been honoring me for years now. I hardly feel it anymore," Valentine said.
"I'm sure you mean General Martinez, sir. Of course, whether I make the GHQ staff depends on my success with this assignment. I intend to leave no stone unturned."
"I wouldn't advise you to turn over too many stones in Martinez's staff garden. Not a pretty sight."
"I have to get back to work, Major. I'd advise you not to hinder me."
"Or what, Sergeant Bragg?"
"BRAY-zhe, sir. Anyone caught red-handed in the act of taking or keeping Southern Command property from its proper allocation, right down to sidearms, may be dealt with summarily," Brage said, sounding as though he were reciting. "That only applies in combat areas, of course."
"Of course. And if you want to see a combat area, Sergeant Bragg, I suggest you try to take a weapon from one of my men."
