War World IV: Invasion

by War World IV Invasion v2 Lit

  As if they could, most of them, Demidov thought.

  He tried to read then, but repeatedly found himself without a clue as to what his eyes had just passed over. He had to look again at the cover: Physiological characteristics of the roots of pine seedlings in the Atlas foothills of. . . . He set it aside; it seemed to belong to a time past. Not long past, but past and now irrelevant. It seemed to him that the days of managing forests for the export market were gone. They’d been there when the train had left Hautaharju, twelve hours earlier, but now they were finished. At any rate they were if the Saurons had come.

  The conductor entered the car and walked along the aisle, speaking directly instead of through the speaker. He stopped by Demidov’s seat and repeated in halting Americ: “We come to Sahakyla soon. We stop there. Eat and charge batteries.”

  Demidov wondered if Migruder was well enough to eat now. Or if he’d eat if he was well enough. It seemed doubtful he’d offer his foolish toast again. He looked backward out the window. Rounding one of the innumerable curves was the long string of log cars they’d gathered. And would no doubt leave at the place they were coming to.

  “What is the town again?” he asked Anna Vuorinen.

  “Sahakyla,” she said. Then surprising him added, “Saha means sawmill, and kyla is village. Sahakyla.” As if knowing, he might better remember. Or as if, with the world coming apart, he’d never leave this country, and had best start learning the language.

  The thought triggered chills almost too intense to bear. Was that it? he thought, and it seemed to him that the answer was yes.

  When they left the railway car at Sahakyla, Migruder looked pale but generally recovered. In the dining hall, however, though he bought another bottle, he drank quietly, moodily. To Ikola it felt that what the man had on his mind was not the bombings nor the rumor of Saurons, but what had been done to him at Tammipuro. His mood seemed not one of worry or shock, but of smoldering resentment. Ikola was glad the man wasn’t his responsibility.

  He sat down across from Demidov. The Russian had impressed him at first as someone who perhaps thought of himself as more refined than other people. His hands were small for his size, and rather slender. But he’d comported himself courteously and thoughtfully at all times.

  “What you think of news today?” Ikola asked quietly in Americ.

  “I think--” Demidov began slowly, “I think it may be the end of things as we’ve known them. The end of civilized life for humans on Haven.”

  The Finn raised an eyebrow. “On Haven were terrible times before. After wars destroyed CoDominium, and Haven left by itself. Our ancestors fell to--” He groped. “Primitive. We have come back long way. Come back again if need.”

  The Russian shook his head. “If the Saurons have come, it will mean worse than primitivism. It will mean slavery!”

  The Finn’s eyes were calm but intent. “What will you do then, if Saurons are here?”

  Demidov sighed and shook his head. “What can one do? Expend one’s life as best one can.”

  “Expend?”

  Demidov looked to Anna Vuorinen and spoke in Russian. “If the Saurons have indeed come, they will make slaves of people. And if they’ve come here, it means they’ve defeated the Empire. That is hard to believe, but perhaps they have done it. Then one can either be their slave, or one can expend his life with honor, and die fighting.”

  The interpreter didn’t begin translating till after Demidov had finished, as if she was looking at the situation for the first time. When she’d repeated it in Finnish, Ikola peered at the Russian curiously.

  “Only those two alternatives, you think?”

  Anna passed his words on. “What else?” the Russian asked.

  “Seventeen standard years ago when the Marines were pulled off Haven,” Ikola replied, “the Empire was still very powerful. There were wars of secession, but the Navy was large--immense--and loyal.”

  His Finnish was flowing more slowly than it might have, and Anna kept pace not many words behind.

  “Sauron was also powerful,” he went on, “but not nearly so large. And if the Empire was beset by wars of secession, the Sauron slave worlds were less than loyal to their masters. They might, perhaps, fear to revolt, but surely they would do such sabotage as they could. Do you really believe the Saurons could have defeated the Empire?”

  “The Saurons believed they could, obviously. And if they are here--” The Russian’s shrug was different than the Finn’s had been, more expressive. “They must have.”

  “You asked for another alternative,” Ikola countered. “I think there is one. A second explanation for the Saurons being here, if they are, and a third alternative for us. Seventeen standard years is not so long. Would it be long enough for the Saurons to defeat the Imperial Fleet, and the Imperial Marines? I think of the young Finns who joined the 77th. They were roughnecks, most of them, and adventurous. And mostly they were not the big-mouths, while those who were, were more as well. They were the youths who liked brawls, and who more often than not won their fights. I think the same was true in other states, and probably on other worlds.

  “And when, after training, they came home on leave, they had changed. They were still tough, but proud with a different pride than before. Pride in their regiment, their division. And they walked differently, moved differently. They even spoke politely to their parents! They knew discipline. In a tavern they might not show it, but they knew discipline where it counted.”

  He paused to let the interpreter catch up, for as he’d warmed to his subject, he’d spoken faster. Now he changed tack.

  “Suppose the Navy beat the Saurons. What do you suppose would happen then?”

  Demidov frowned, pursed his lips. “If they defeated them, really defeated them-- They would surely destroy Sauron, their home world. And everyone on it. But to do that, they’d have to destroy the Sauron fleet, first.”

  Ikola nodded, saying nothing, leaving Demidov to carry his thoughts further.

  The Russian shrugged again. “I suppose the Saurons, what were left of them, would scatter. And the Fleet would pursue them, try to eradicate them to the last ship, the last man. And woman.” He frowned. “What you want me to say is that the Saurons who’ve come here, if they have come here, are a ship of refugees.”

  Ikola nodded. “It seems more probable. The alternative, if the Saurons are really here--the alternative is that in just seventeen years they have destroyed the Imperial Fleet. And in those same seventeen years have spread through the entire Empire, occupying every world to the very last. And this world would be the very last, or one of them.

  “I do not think all that could happen in seventeen years.”

  The two men hadn’t realized that the rest of the table had fallen silent and was listening, the Finns to Ikola and to Anna’s translation of the Russian, Migruder to his own interpreter.

  It was Migruder who interrupted, his laugh half bark, half sneer. “Shit!” he said. “Saurons! No Saurons would waste their time with a crummy back-water world like this! Some pansy saw something and panicked. Over the radio. Some other pansies heard him squawk, and they panicked. Now you sad sacks of shit are flapping around ready to suicide.”

  Lytikainen was sitting on the same side of the table as Migruder. He stood abruptly, his chair clattering backward onto the pine floor, and with two quick strides had the Nevadan by the hair, even as the man turned in his seat. Lytikainen jerked him backward, and Migruder’s chair went over, Migruder in it. The man scrambled to his feet ready to fight, but the massive Dufva was between the two, keeping them apart. Lytikainen he’d shoved sharply backward, sending him staggering. Migruder’s shirt he’d gripped with a massive left hand, twisted, and jerked him close. The Nevadan looked paralyzed.

  “We will be polite here,” he said in ponderous Americ. With a grin, his face in Migruder’s. Demidov, himself startled breathless, realized he’d misread the quiet, smiling logging engineer. The man was not placid, simply amiable. He’d prob
ably smile at you even while throwing you through the wall. Seemingly Migruder realized this too, realized something at any rate, realized that this man could gobble up both Lytikainen and himself with little effort. He snarled non-verbally as Dufva freed him, and straightened his shirt. His interpreter had retrieved Migruder’s chair and stood it up again.

  The man from Minerals was on his feet too, tight-lipped. Demidov suspected the man would like to have done what Lytikainen had, but still he was responsible for Migruder’s mission here. Now it would be a miracle if the man didn’t head back for Hautaharju; this could even result in a break in diplomatic relations. On the other hand there was no point in anyone’s raising hell with Lytikainen; the damage was already done. Demidov was glad he wasn’t involved.

  That’s when the music was interrupted with another report. Morgan, Migruder’s interpreter, gave the outlanders a running translation into Americ. “This is Radio Metsajoki. We have just received a report from Weather Service radio on Iron Hill, broadcasting on emergency backup power. Severe explosions have erupted in the power plant at Kivikuilu. There is fire there, and heavy smoke, presumably radioactive, is drifting down the canyon toward the capital. Extra-atmospheric fighter craft have attacked both the city and the military base south of it. Great explosions have occurred over the government district and the military base. The very air appeared to explode; the center of the city has been flattened. Of the government district and the apartment blocks around it, hardly a wall is standing. There is no sign of anyone left alive.

  “Immediately after we received the preceding report, the Weather Service personnel reported that a fighter craft was circling their installation. Transmission then cut off.

  “We will try to keep you informed of anything further that happens. Meanwhile, we return you to our music program.”

  Someone--the cook or the tavernkeeper--turned the volume well down then, and for a long moment the room was silent. Demidov looked around at the Finns. None were moving, though he could hear someone’s labored breathing above the muted music. It was as if they’d been turned to stone. Then Migruder began to chuckle, the sound escalating, becoming a laugh, at first harsh and bitter, then loud, uncontrolled, as if driven by some psychotic mirth.

  Demidov stared. He expected someone to strike the man, but no one moved. When Migruder had choked back his laughter, he spoke: “You Finns! You goddamn ridiculous people! Now you see how weak you are! You’re fucked now, fucked good!”

  He looked around leering. Then Demidov was surprised to find himself speaking, his voice loud in the stillness. “Migruder, you are a fool!”

  Migruder’s head jerked to stare at him.

  “Think, man!” Demidov went on. “Where have you been all day? Haven’t you been listening? Do you believe the Saurons make war only on people you don’t like? They’ve already destroyed the planet’s major military bases. Now they destroy the minor ones. They’re also destroying the power-generating plants of the planet, and the governing capacity. What do you think is left of your father’s barony? Of the government district at New Reno? Of New Reno itself?

  “Your father can’t protect you from this. He can’t buy you out of it. You’re in a foreign land a thousand kilometers from home, except now you don’t have a home. You’re alone here in the midst of a people you’ve insulted repeatedly.”

  Migruder’s eyes bulged, not with rage but seemingly in shock. The man is insane, Demidov realized. Truly insane. He’s been walking around with insanity seething just below the surface, for who knows how long.

  The Nevadan turned abruptly and strode toward the door. No one tried to stop him.

  The rest waited for dinner. The cook continued cooking, and when the food was ready, the tavernkeeper served them. The only things unusual about it were the quiet, and that two of the Finnish passengers went to the kitchen and helped bring out the food.

  The food, it seemed to Demidov, was as good as it would otherwise have been. He even enjoyed it in a detached sort of way: ate detachedly, tasted detachedly, and watched those around him detachedly. He didn’t wonder about his father in Novy Petrograd, or his brothers or sisters; he knew. Knew all he needed to.

  A question did occur to him though, and when he’d finished his main course, he turned to Anna Vuorinen. “I have a question for Herra Ikola.” He looked at the Finn. “If the nuclear plant has been destroyed, how are the locomotive’s storage batteries being recharged?”

  “Beginning here at Sahakyla, the railroad’s power comes from the dam at Rajakuilu. The power for the whole northeastern part of the country does.” Ikola raised his voice then, enough to get everyone’s attention. “Who here wishes to return south?” He didn’t say south to Hautaharju; just south.

  Three of the four men from Minerals raised their hands. Probably they felt compelled to seek their families. Demidov didn’t know whether to be surprised or not when Anna Vuorinen didn’t raise her hand. He was definitely surprised when Migruder’s interpreter didn’t; he’d been sure the man was from New Nevada, and south was the direction of home for him. Perhaps, Demidov thought, he intended to wait and see what Migruder wished to do.

  Ikola’s home was south too, in Hautaharju, but he hadn’t raised his hand. Demidov thought he knew why: Ikola had mentioned that his wife worked in the Agriculture Ministry, and that they lived in an apartment almost across the street from it. At home or at work, she’d have died. Of course, there might be children . . .

  “There is a reserve armory at Metsajoki,” the Finn went on. “There will be infantry weapons there, including mortars and rockets, along with officers and noncoms.

  And field rations for two months. Field radios too, for as long as their batteries last. It will take about fifteen hours to get there by train. Or perhaps only eight or ten, if the conductor decides we need not stop for log cars.” He turned to the conductor. “Personally, I think it would be futile to haul logs. Perhaps later, if it should turn out that the Saurons are just a rumor.”

  The conductor said nothing. Shortly the engineer came in to say that the batteries were recharged. Walking to the train, Demidov spoke again to Ikola through Anna Vuorinen: “You never told me your alternative to slavery or dying in combat.”

  “Ah,” said the Finn. “The other is to survive free. Survive and wait.” His eyes were hard. “I’ve read considerable history, of both Haven and Earth. The Russian people, like the Finns, are good at surviving, at outlasting their oppressors.

  Demidov said nothing more as they walked. He was digesting Ikola’s answer.

  Migruder stayed on the northbound train, drinking. Demidov suspected that Morgan hadn’t said anything to him about going south. Meanwhile the conductor had decided to follow standard practice; they stopped several times to drop off empties and take on cars of logs.

  It seemed to Demidov that what had happened at Hautaharju had caught up with Ikola. Early on, the Finn had gone to the restroom and not reappeared for quite a while. When he did, his eyelids had been swollen and spongy looking, his face pasty pale. Now he sat as if dead, his features slack, and did not talk at all. Even Lytikainen and Dufva left him to himself.

  Vuorinen gave Demidov his first Finnish lesson: “olen, I am; olet, you are; han on, he or she is. . . .” The language, Vuorinen told him, was so conservative, a modem Finn could read the ancient books. It came, she said, from the tradition of learning ancient verse verbatim, and from pronouncing everything the way it was spelled.

  Perhaps, thought Demidov. But at a deeper level it came from valuing the old, even while adapting to and living with the new.

  Six hours after they’d left Sahakyla, the conductor announced they were approaching the village of Susilahde, where they would eat again. About time, Demidov thought; his stomach had been grumbling. “Susilahde.” Susi, Anna told him, was Finnish for stobor, although on Earth it had meant a different pack-hunting animal. Lahde meant a spring of water. He sat repeating the name to himself, to the measure of the wheels clicking over the
expansion joints in the rails.

  It was near noon when they arrived, noon in a forty-hour day, and it was warm, nearly hot. Walking down the graveled street in the rays of Byers’ Sun, Demidov sweated. Migruder hadn’t gotten off the train with them; hadn’t eaten since Tammipuro, and presumably had puked up that. Or had it been nothing more than diarrhea? As he walked, Demidov drilled the verb to be: olen, olet, him on, se on; olemme, olette. . . .

  Inside the tavern was half dark. No light burned. The place seemed deserted. Demidov looked in past Ikola, who’d led off from the train and stood just inside the doorway. The Finn called a halloo in Finnish, and the tavernkeeper came in from a back room. Then they all entered. “We cannot cook,” the tavernkeeper said simply. “There is no electricity.”

  “No electricity?” Ikola sounded more vexed than surprised. “Those Sauron bastards! There won’t be any at the railroad either then. The engineer won’t be able to recharge the batteries.”

  Anna interpreted for Demidov while the others cursed or stood silent.

  “How did it happen?” Demidov asked, and Anna passed his question on.

  “It’s damned obvious!” Ikola said angrily. “The Sauron sons of bitches have bombed the dam at Rajakuilu! They can’t leave anything alone! They want to send us back to the stone age!”

  He turned to the tavernkeeper. “When did this happen?”

  “Less than an hour ago.”

  “Can you feed us cold food?”

  “Limppu and butter, cold boiled eggs, some cold meat ... I might as well use the meat up; there’s no refrigeration now. Uno and Arvo are digging a cold hole on the shady side of the tavern, like in the old days. When they’re done, I can keep things in it. But not frozen; not in summer.”

  They went to the table and sat down in the half-dark. There were only seven of them now, the three Finnish forestry people plus one from the Minerals Ministry, along with Anna Vuorinen, Demidov, and Migruder’s interpreter, Morgan. The tavernkeeper, who’d sent his cook home, went into the kitchen and clattered around. Meanwhile there was no radio--no music, no news bulletins.