Terra Nova- the Wars of Liberation

by Tom Kratman

  “Excuse me, Father,” Alexander said, standing to leave, somewhat dazed that he had unburdened himself so freely to a stranger, priest or not. “Thank you for your conversation and counsel.”

  “It was my pleasure, Prince Alexander,” Duc said. “I hope you will come see me again.”

  Alexander paused for a moment, half turned to the door. Turning back to Duc he said, “I just may. Thank you again.”

  When he reached headquarters, Alexander was ushered into the main operations room. A familiar terrain model dominated the room on a large, low table in its center. It depicted a large swath of river valley and adjacent hills, with two towns, one fishing hamlet and one walled village dominating. Alexander had already studied it extensively. It represented the CLF’s largest base area in Lang Xan. Though only he and Mjanwe knew it, his battalion’s entire training regimen had been geared towards preparations for attacking it.

  The regimental level commanders and other independent battalions were all there as well. Arcand regarded them all from the north end of the terrain model. He made eye contact with Alexander briefly and for a moment Alexander thought he could see something resigned, even melancholy in the Frenchman’s expression. It was gone rapidly, if it had even really been there, and Arcand appeared confident, excited, even a bit triumphant.

  Realization dawned on Alexander a second before Arcand began to talk.

  “Gentlemen,” he said. “Operation North Wind is approved. As soon as the monsoons end in the central region, we will invade Lang Xan.”

  Khoi Dau Moi

  The evening was notably cooler and pleasant in Khoi Dau Moi as service at St. Christopher’s let out. An odd, diverse crowd emerged from the great wooden doors. The congregation was still predominantly locals, but several faces had complexions ranging from dark tan to flat black, their height and uniforms further distinguishing from the mass of Catholic Cochinese villagers. The conversation in the evening air was a polyglot hum of Vietnamese, French and isiZulu.

  There had been tension at first, when Alexander and a handful of his men began attending evening mass at St. Christopher’s. After several weeks, though, their presence was a normal thing. A few tentative friendships, beyond Mai’s and Alexander’s, formed in those weeks.

  Even a few pale white faces broke up the crowd, though admittedly some of these were more or less open spies. Mai hoped some of them might hear and receive the Word of the Lord in good faith regardless; that way their souls wouldn’t be eternally damned when the resistance killed them all.

  Alexander and his Zulus were resplendent in their blue dress uniforms with matching kepi. Mai couldn’t help but cast an admiring gaze at Alexander in particular as she looped a hand through his arm. Objectively, he wasn’t all that handsome, but he was tall and strong, and every decoration on his uniform was for valor, not some petty recognition of bureaucratic excellence.

  The sheathed short spear and holstered pistol on his shoulder-and-waist belt completed the image of dash and danger. Furthermore, even in the heat of Cochina in a heavy uniform, he smelled right.

  Such an unladylike thought, Mai chastised herself mockingly.

  As had become their custom after evening Mass, Alexander walked Mai back to the Compound with only his personal guards and Adjutant-Chef Mjanwe trailing at a respectable distance. The guards were the only Zulus in battle dress rather than the ornate blue dress uniforms, and each man carried a rifle at the low-ready.

  The old Zulu warrior always stood at the back of the Church throughout Mass, joining Alexander as he departed. He remained politely quiet but refused to take communion or otherwise participate. When Mai asked Alexander about this, he’d told her that while many of his men blended Christianity with the traditional Nguni beliefs, Mjanwe remained a hard line believer in the old ways. He only set foot in a Christian church out of loyalty to his earthly lord, not because he put any stock in Christ’s claim to divine Lordship.

  Mai thought that sad, as she rather liked the grizzled old warrior, seeing many of the virtues of huntsmen she’d grown up with from her own district in his demeanor.

  Their journey terminated at the steps to Arcand’s personal domicile, a grand white mansion with stone steps leading to a sweeping porch. The structure wouldn’t have looked out of place in Vietnam before Dien Bien Phu, but was nevertheless reinforced with modern materials and technologies to make it sturdier, more defensible.

  The Cochinese girl and the Zulu prince stood awkwardly for several seconds before the first stair, neither wanting to go, neither having anything more to say.

  “I will be gone in the morning,” Alexander said, finally. “It may be an extended absence.”

  Mai picked up something about his tone.

  “This is it, isn’t it?” She asked. “The big mission you’ve been training for.”

  “You know I can’t—” Alexander began.

  “Of course you can’t,” Mai said, holding up a forestalling hand. “If the general doesn’t need anything, I’ll go to sleep myself. I’ll look forward to your return.”

  A brief flicker of something, distaste, anger, perhaps even jealousy crossed Alexander’s face when she mentioned the possibility of General Arcand needing something. She’d seen it before and assumed it was just annoyance with his employer. It just then occurred to her that in the months she’d known Alexander, she’d never clarified something important.

  “Alexander, you know that General Arcand doesn’t, eh, take liberties with me, don’t you?”

  “Oh, good,” Alexander said, his face brightening. Realizing that he’d betrayed more emotion than he’d intended, his expression fell into something sheepish, and very young. A trill of musical laughter escaped Mai’s lips.

  I giggle now? She thought, confounded.

  “I suppose that it isn’t properly my concern,” Alexander said, looking at his boots.

  On impulse, Mai closed the distance between them and reached a hand up to his cheek.

  “Isn’t it?” she asked.

  When Alexander met her eyes, she felt all his warmth and passion in his gaze like a wave washing over her. Though she’d been intentionally stirring his emotions for weeks now, they still overwhelmed her in their intensity and honesty. This man cared for her and wanted her for more than a transitory pleasure, as surely as she breathed.

  At five foot six, Mai was tall for a Cochin girl, but she still had to go up on tip toe and pull his head down toward her to kiss him lightly on the corner of his mouth before rapidly stepping back out of his personal space.

  “Take care, Prince Alexander. I would be most aggrieved at the loss of your company.”

  She caught a glimpse of Adjutant-Chef Mjanwe’s grin as she turned to leave, and the casual touch of his hand to his Kepi, but she acknowledged neither. Instead she fled up the stone steps of Arcand’s quarters, silently berating herself with every step.

  Stupid, foolish girl! She berated herself. How does this end? How does this end in any other way than with one or both of you dead? You idiotic little twat!

  Her feet carried her automatically through the front door and to Arcand’s private office as the stream of verbal abuse spewed like a firehose of degradation in her mind. Just before the threshold of Arcand’s inner sanctum, she had the presence of mind to stop and collect herself. She saw light under the door, after a deep breath she opened the door softly and entered.

  Arcand’s office was actually little different from his study, which was in turn, little different from his library; all lined with bookshelves and with every horizontal surface holding at least one volume, a bottle of liquor or both, including his desk. Mai had been allowed, required even, to read many of the books; especially those concerning politics, sociology and history.

  The general wasn’t present, so she reached to turn the lights off and leave. But her hand froze in mid-air when she noticed a map on his desk. That was odd, as he usually kept that sort of thing in the operations shop. He must have been reviewing some last minute
details for whatever big mission was in the offing.

  Mai’s pulse quickened. She’d reported the UN’s increased activity to the resistance, but perhaps here she could determine some details. Looking around and confirming she was alone in the office, Mai approached the desk. She had to stifle a gasp at what she saw.

  It was a map of Lang Xan. The entire resistance depended on the safe havens afforded by the indescribably corrupt UN forces there. Not only did they leave the CLF bases alone, they conveniently, “lost,” their military hardware in a roughly equal mass to what opium made its way into their hands, over and above the standard protection shipments, of course. The ability to retreat across the border, reconstitute bloodied units and train new recruits had enabled the Cochinese to resist a power with a technological edge of centuries far longer than they would have been able otherwise.

  Mai wasn’t fluent in the military graphics Arcand had drawn over the map’s topography, and the southwest quadrant was covered by a pile of papers she dare not disturb, but the gist was exceedingly clear. This was a massive incursion, accomplished by helicopter and riverine insertion.

  Alexander said he’s leaving tomorrow, she thought. It’s already too late . . . No, wait, they won’t launch the attack directly from here, he’ll have to go to a staging area closer to the border. We have a day . . . maybe two. If Father Duc can get a runner on the road tonight, we might get word there in time.

  Despite the risk, Mai retrieved a small note pad and pen from a pocket in her dress and began to write down six-digit grid coordinates to the landing zones marked on Arcand’s map. She’d kept her ability to read topographic maps one of her most closely guarded secrets since the first days of her captivity. There were many CLF victories due in part to the fact that Arcand’s predecessor had been careless with classified maps around her. Arcand had always been more conscientious, until tonight.

  “Mai, child, is that you?”

  Arcand’s voice, slow and fatigued, scared Mai out of several years of life. She stifled a yelp.

  “Yes, General,” Mai managed to say calmly. “I came to see if you needed anything before I turned in.”

  Arcand appeared in the doorframe between office and study. He was composed and upright, but his eyes held a slightly glassy quality. He was not sloppily drunk, she had never seen him thus, but he had clearly been at the bottle.

  After months on end of concealing her emotions, Mai should’ve easily been able to pass scrutiny given his current condition, but the intensity of her interaction with Alexander, the revelation of the UN’s impending invasion of Lang Xan and being on the edge of being found out put a subtle flush on her cheeks.

  “Are you alright, Mai?” Arcand asked, and for the moment his voice sounded solicitous rather than suspicious.

  “Yes, General,” she said. “I just returned from evening service with Colonel nDlamini.”

  “Ah,” Arcand smiled, a genuine expression, but tinged with sadness. “Of course. Good, very good. I imagine he’ll need you very much in the coming months.”

  “General?” Mai said, confused.

  “It’s nothing,” Arcand gave a graceful, Gallic wave of negation. “Come, sit, have a drink with me.”

  Confusion warred with terror for Mai’s emotions. Arcand had always treated her correctly, even cordially, but he’d never been so informal. Was he trying to get her drunk because he was finally planning on breaking his self-enforced celibacy?

  This is a hell of a night for his chivalry to fail him!

  Arcand poured a glass of purplish red wine and set it on an end table next to a comfortable leather chair. He poured a glass for himself as well, and took the chair opposite hers, gesturing for her to sit. She did so, unable to hide her confusion. Fortunately, that was in character for spy and hostage-servant alike in this case. Arcand said nothing for many seconds, merely drinking his wine and staring out the window.

  “General,” Mai said, tentatively. “It’s late and you seem tired—”

  “I seem drunk,” Arcand interrupted her with a raspy chuckle. “Because I am. But don’t worry, I don’t have anything nefarious in mind for you. I just wanted to talk to you.”

  Mai was extremely confused now.

  “What do you want to talk about, General?”

  “I’m sorry, you know,” Arcand said. “For how you were treated. It was wrong, I’m glad the sonofabitch is dead. Every Army has its beasts, but I don’t let them run amuck in my command.”

  “I know that, General,” Mai admitted.

  “Do you still hate us?” Arcand said. “It’s all right if you do, I would hate us if I were you.”

  Mai considered the Frenchman opposite her carefully. His words were clear, his voice steady and his eyes focused on her; nonetheless he was clearly drunk. Any answer could end her life.

  Tell the truth and shame the devil.

  “I don’t hate you, personally, General,” she said. “But I wish you’d all go away.”

  Arcand barked a sharp laugh, startling Mai again.

  “Including Alexander?” Arcand asked. Mai said nothing, but blushed.

  “No need to answer that, of course. Thank you for being honest, Mai,” he said, then drained his glass again. She noted several empty bottles on the low coffee table.

  “I understand why you hate us, but I wanted to tell you that everything I do, no matter how cruel it seems, is to a good end,” Arcand said. “The world I’m going to give you and Alexander, and your people, it will be better. I swear it will be better. I know you don’t believe me, but I’ll prove it to you in the end.”

  Mai said nothing, merely regarding her captor in shock.

  He means it, it isn’t just the wine, she thought. Is this what war does to men of conscience? Drives them insane in their own spiraling rationalizations? Is this what Alexander will be like some day?

  Seeing her shock, Arcand regained himself with a visible effort. Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes and sighed.

  “Thank you, Mai,” he said, quietly. “You’re right, it is late. You may go now.”

  “You should rest, too, General,” Mai said.

  “I will, child,” he said, his voice gentle. “Go on, now.”

  Mai stood and left the room, taking care not to appear hurried as she went to help kill two men who cared for her.

  On Approach to LZ Black

  Lang Xan Colony, Terra Nova

  Alexander scanned the landscape below the helicopter with night optics that turned the dark jungle canopy textured green-gray. Oddly, Alexander was one of only three Zulus aboard, the others being his RTO Thenjiwe and Adjutant-Chef Mjanwe. The other seven occupants were German combat engineers from the pioneer platoon that had been attached to his battalion for this operation. Wanting to keep his line platoons intact, Alexander had willingly stuffed his battalion headquarters personnel, himself included, wherever they could fit on the helicopters, as long as they were headed to the right LZ.

  The helicopters attempted very few sharp maneuvers as more than half of them carried sling loads of wire, ammunition, and mines, the gray-green bags looking for all the world like canvas scrotums swaying beneath the advancing helicopters.

  Underneath his calm demeanor, Alexander obsessively reviewed the plan for this operation. His battalion, plus German attachments, was headed for three landing zones on a peninsula formed by a massive oxbow in the Lang Xanese branch of the Green River. The fishing town of Savannakhet occupied the banks of the peninsula, and though its kilometer-long expanse of wooden docks were unassuming, primitive things, they were pivotal to Arcand’s plan. With no feasible overland line of supply and communication, airmobile and riverine transport were the only way the UN could support sustained operations in this region of Lang Xan. For this shitty little brushfire war, Savannakhet was the equivalent of a deep water port.

  Alpha and Bravo companies were occupying LZ’s Red and White, from which they could isolate the peninsula from the main land. They would establish, as rapidly
as possible, westward facing battle positions to defend against any reaction from the CLF main force, which was garrisoned eight kilometers away at the walled city of Champasak. Charlie Company, the German Pioneers, and Alexander’s battalion headquarters element would make landfall at LZ Black, on the peninsula itself, behind LZs Red and White, and capture Savannakhet.

  A flotilla of riverboats of every size and description was already underway from KDM up the Green River. With luck, the flotilla should reach Savannakhet’s docks shortly after the second sortie of helicopters brought resupply plus reinforcements from the German contingent.

  Depending on the enemy’s reaction time, the Zulus and their German allies would either be defending their own lines or advancing against Champasak, attempting to draw out and fix the bulk of the CLF’s modern-armed main battle force, thought to be of roughly regimental strength. It was extremely unlikely the Zulus could conquer Champasak alone, but once the bulk of the CLF’s combat power was concentrated on Alexander’s force, Arcand would initiate phase two of Operation North Wind.

  Having secured enough fixed wing craft from UNPFTN to loft the entire 2nd Regiment Etranger Parachutiste of the Legion, Arcand intended to jump them into drop zones to the southwest of Champasak. Once they were reorganized following the jump, the entire regiment would march on Champasak.

  If the enemy refused to take the Zulus as bait, the alternate plan was to link up with the 2REP, surround Champasak, and wait for resupply and reinforcements via subsequent helicopter and riverine sorties. Once every available unit was in Lang Xan and fully supplied, they would then have to siege and probably storm Champasak while it was fully garrisoned, at much greater cost in lives. Alexander devoutly hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  “Two minutes out, Colonel,” the pilot’s laconic French voice sounded in Alexander’s headphones.