He found LeHavre by a commissary wagon, sharing a cup of coffee with an unknown, clean-shaven Wolf.
"David Valentine, meet Randall Harper," the captain introduced. "Sergeant Harper here is part of the Command Staff. A courier, to be exact."
The young men shook hands. Harper seemed a little young to be a sergeant, particularly on the Command Staff, but then Valentine was even younger to be a lieutenant. The courier had a lazy eye, which made looking into his face unsettling, but he wore a cheerful smile that brightened his whole face to such a degree that Valentine liked him from first sight.
"Pleased to meet you, sir," Harper said.
"Valentine, you are going on a trip. I need some young legs to accompany Harper here on a four-hundred-mile jaunt. All the way up to Lake Michigan, as a matter of fact."
"I've got two bags of mail and one of dispatches, sir," Harper added.
"Why me, sir?" Valentine asked, risking a rebuke.
"Normally an officer from Foxtrot Company and another Wolf would go, but as of these last few days, Foxtrot doesn't exist anymore and probably won't for another year or so. There's only acting-lieutenants in the junior position in the other two Wolf companies, and I don't know enough about them to pick one. And you're from the Great White North, so I thought you'd like a trip back up. I was going to send you up with Paul Samuels anyway on one of his recruiting sweeps, but this'll be a better experience for you."
"Mounted or afoot, sir?"
"With a little luck, you'll be mounted all the way. Three horses plus a spare is what you have, right, Sergeant?"
"Yes, sir," Harper answered. "The fourth will carry the mail and some oats. Or if we lose one, it'll be a remount."
"So a third man is going, sir?" Valentine asked. "Who will that be?"
LeHavre patted Valentine on the shoulder. "Take who you want, Valentine. Except for Patel. I need him, and he's too old to cover forty miles a day for long stretches anymore."
Valentine mentally ran down the list of Wolves in Zulu Company.
"I'll take Gonzalez, sir. He has the best nose in the company, and he's first-rate with his hunting bow."
"Take him with my compliments, Lieutenant. Let me know your needs. I realize the company wagons haven't caught up with us yet, but I can probably scrounge you up about anything. Questions?"
The only questions that came to Valentine's mind implied evading responsibility, so he remained silent.
LeHavre finished his coffee. "You two get together with Gonzalez and talk it through. I know you've made the trip a couple of times, Harper, so tell as much about the route to the other two as you can, just in case. You leave at dawn."
Harper accepted the possibility of his death, suggested by the just in case, with the same sunny smile. "Gladly, sir."
That evening, Gonzalez joined them in an informal camp-fire conference.
"Seems like a lot of effort to deliver a few letters. How often do you do this?" Gonzo asked.
"Two or three times a year. Southern Command tries to stay in touch with the other Resistance pockets, at least the big ones. This is information we don't want to broadcast on the shortwave. That's why if it looks like we're going to be taken, you need to pour the fluid in the flasks onto the dispatches and burn 'em."
"If the Reapers are closing in, I'm going to be too busy to start any fires, Sarge."
Valentine mopped up his stew with a slab of bread. "How long are we going to be gone?"
"Depends on the horses, and then the sailors. If we can come up with feed now and then, about two weeks per leg. But there's no guarantee the ship will be in WhitefishBay on time. The Lakes Fleet has troubles of its own. Luckily the Kurians don't pay much attention to the ships, unless they get too close to a city they care about. We'll just have to wait if they aren't there."
"Ever had any problems running the mail?" Valentine inquired.
Harper's smile returned. "A few close shaves. We should keep toward the Mississippi until the Wisconsin border or so. About all you have to worry about there is border trash, but they're mostly scared of everything. Wisconsin has the real Kurian lands we have to cross. Their pet humans farm that area pretty good, and of course the Reapers farm the humans. The shortest route would be up through central Illinois, but that's thickly settled, and unless you have a death wish, you'll want to keep away from Chicago."
Valentine and Gonzalez bade farewell to their company in the predawn gloom. LeHavre offered a final word of advice to his junior lieutenant.
"Keep your eyes open, Mr. Valentine," LeHavre said, solemnly shaking his protege's hand. "We never know enough about what is happening in the Lost Lands. Try and pick up any information you can, even if it's just impressions."
"Thank you for the opportunity, sir."