Robert Frezza - [Colonial War 02]

by Fire in a Faraway Place (epub)

  filled a little church while a few of Lieutenant Thomas’s recon boys kept a discreet watch outside. To cover bringing everyone into Johannesburg, Hanna Brawer had called a special session of the legislature, ostensibly to discuss an emergency supplemental appropriations bill.

  “Evening services,” Haijalo grunted as he and Vereshchagin sat on the front step waiting for Albert Beyers and the rest of the civilians inside to finish.

  “Heaven knows we will need prayers, Matti. Possibly divine intervention as well.” Vereshchagin scooped up a handful of soil and rolled it between the palms of his hands.

  “How long have they been at it? Three or four hours now. Most of them saw the stuff we filched days ago.”

  “Patience, Matti. Their lives and the lives of their families are at stake. If we are to have any chance of success, we need to have each of these people behind us wholeheartedly.”

  A few moments later, Albert Beyers came out to fetch them. Apparently it was warm work inside—Beyers had stripped off his coat and rolled his sleeves. His white shirt shined incongruously in the starlight. “They are ready to see you, Anton.” Vereshchagin and Harjalo followed him inside, and Vereshchagin mounted the pulpit to take questions.

  Christos Claassen stood up first. “We have been speaking of revolt and revolution for the last hour, Anton. Albert and I and a few of the would-be generals here have discussed the matter, but many here have very bitter memories of the last rebellion. For the benefit of us all, if we rebel, can we win?”

  “Christos, you and I and many others here know that in war, the simplest things defy prediction,” Vereshchagin began carefully.

  Wynard Grobelaar interrupted. “Why should this be so?” he demanded.

  “Thank you. I will try to answer this before I finish my response to Heer Claassen. In war, the stresses that each man and each military unit is subject to—a philosopher named Clausewitz defined it as ‘friction’—are almost incomprehensibly great. Think of a military campaign as if it were a bridge. To use my metaphor, if we rebel, our bridge will be made from straw woven together with thread. Admiral Horii will also have difficulties, so I believe that we can succeed, but I assure you that it will not be easy.”

  “How much of a chance do we have?” Andries Steen asked soberly.

  Vereshchagin smiled cheerfully. “I would not attempt to quantify our chances. I would find it depressing.”

  Burgemeester Prinsloo Adriaan Smith uncrossed his legs. “Anton, some of us have never been military men. How many soldiers and tanks and things do they have, and how many do we have to place against them?”

  “Matti?” Vereshchagin asked.

  “So, let’s count noses when the shooting starts.” Harjalo looked down at the rows of faces. “We have three infantry companies, a light attack company, an aviation company of sorts, an engineer platoon, and a reconnaissance platoon. If we call out the commandos that we have integrated into our force structure, we have an additional platoon to add to each company plus an additional reserve infantry company that Christiaan De Wette runs. Christiaan, you want to show yourself?”

  De Wette, a tall, bearded man, stood up and nodded to introduce himself.

  “We can also count on about three hundred partially trained reservists to take over local surveillance and security duties. That gives us about a thousand trained infantrymen, sixteen Cadillac armored cars, four 160mm mechanized mortars, eight attack helicopters, and four Shiden ground-attack aircraft.” He shrugged. “We have a few more armored cars and Shiden aircraft tucked away to replace losses.”

  “What about Colonel Ebyl’s battalion?” Nadine Joh asked. “We are talking of committing mutiny and high treason here, Nadine, and as much as Uwe’s people sympathize, I don’t think they want any part of it. I expect them to try to sit this one out.”

  At a nod from Vereshchagin, Haijalo continued, “On the other side, Admiral Horii has five battalions plus.” He raised three fingers. “First, there’s the Manchurian regiment, which has twelve infantry companies, a light attack company, an artillery company, an aviation company, an engineer company, and a reconnaissance company. Their companies are organized under the new system, so they’re smaller than ours, but the Manchurians were shipped out here at 102 percent of authorized strength, so they can field the equivalent of 1,500 infantrymen, twelve armored cars, twelve 210mm howitzers—those are very large artillery pieces for the uninitiated—and twelve attack helicopters.”

  He raised a fourth finger. “Next, there’s the Japanese Ninth Imperial Light Attack Battalion. Because it’s Japanese, it’s overstrength, with four companies of four platoons each, plus a mechanized mortar company, an aviation company, and a reconnaissance platoon. In all, the battalion has fifty Cadillacs of an unusually nasty design, sixteen 160mm mechanized mortars—those are very large and very mobile artillery pieces—and twelve attack helicopters.”

  Harjalo lifted his thumb and held his entire hand outstretched. “Next, Horii has the Sixth Imperial Lifeguards Battalion, which is also overstrength with four 150-man infantry companies, a light attack company, an aviation platoon, an engineer platoon, and a reconnaissance platoon. They can field about 750 infantrymen, twelve Cadillacs, and four helicopters.

  Horii also has two companies of area defense troops, an avia lion company with twelve Shiden aircraft, an artillery company with twelve more howitzers, two companies of blackleg security police, and four warships over our heads.”

  “Let no one misunderstand,” Vereshchagin interjected, “these warships can see most of our movements, and once they locate our forces, they can pour down a devastating volume of fire.”

  “This tends to have somewhat of a chilling effect on operations,” Harjalo added.

  “How will we shoot down four spaceships?” Beyers exclaimed.

  “We’re still working on that part,” Harjalo admitted. “We didn’t say that this would be easy.”

  “So, Anton, what happens if our bridge should break?” Christos Claassen asked, already aware of the answer. Claassen had served as chief of logistics for the rebel forces during the uprising, and Vereshchagin’s men had come very near to killing him.

  Vereshchagin smiled, this time sadly. “Then like all men, we shall die untimely.”

  Claassen asked a final question for the benefit of everyone. “And assuming that God favors us and we win, what will the cost be?”

  Vereshchagin measured his words carefully. “Trust me when I tell you that the price of victory is blood and hard fighting. The soldiers, professionals and reservists, will pay a part of this price, but please understand that the civilian population will be in the front lines of this war, and that they will pay the remainder in death and hardship. I will tell you bluntly that you must accept this formula or not wage war. And, as 1 have hinted, if we are defeated, the cost will be far, far higher.” Nadine Joh said very loudly, “Anton is right when he says civilians are going to pay part of the bill, but remember that we’re going to pay anyway.” The cowboy matriarch smiled sweetly. “Don’t think USS has forgotten.”

  “But if we should agree to fight, what will our strategy be?” one man asked.

  Vereshchagin stared at him coldly. “Please do not expect me to allow you to vote on that. If you ask me to fight for you, you will have to abide by my decisions. In the one hundred sixty-eighth year before Christ, Lucius Aernillius Paulus, a Roman general and consul, said it best: ‘Commanders should be counseled chiefly by persons of known talent, by those who have made the art of war their particular study and whose knowledge is derived from experience, by those who are present at the scene of action who see the enemy. If therefore anyone thinks himself qualified to give advice respecting the war which I conduct, let him come with me into Macedonia.’ ” “To clarify the issue for some of our brethren, you expect this body to give you unquestioned control over the conduct of military operations,” Beyers said.

  “Either give me that, or find someone else to take my place. There is no middle co
urse,” Vereshchagin said indifferently. “We do not have any margin for error or divided counsels. I will accept responsibility for failure, which is a polite way of saying that if I miscalculate, you may spit on whatever grave they allow me.”

  Hours later, Vereshchagin allowed his shoulders to slump as he and Haijalo waited outside for Beyers and the conclave to finish their deliberations. “Matti, I feel like the Pied Piper.” “Anton, I have no head for politics,” Harjalo began. It was such an obvious lie that Vereshchagin smiled. “But I think they’re going to give you everything you asked for.”

  “Albert and I may have persuaded the ones in there,” Vereshchagin agreed, “but what of the rest of the people? The ones I have not spoken to? The ones who will do the suffering?”

  Haijalo shifted his weight. “Anton, I have been talking to the little people on the streets for months, and I will tell you this. They trust Albert and Hanna, and if they say fight, the people will do it. But you? You’re the magic man. You’re Erwin Rommel and Robert E. Lee. The Afrikaners know that we shouldn’t have whipped them with one lousy battalion. They aren’t about to admit that their boys were terrible soldiers, and they know that Hendrik Pienaar was good, so you have to be that much better. Every last one of them says the same thing, ‘The rebellion was wrong, and it is best for everyone that it ended when it did—but if we would have had a Vereshchagin, we would have shown you something!’ ” Vereshchagin stared at him. “I am not sure whether I should laugh or cry.”

  “You don’t really think that the nonsense that you and Albert have cooked up together fools anyone, do you? Except for the bankers and the politicians, everybody out there knows that whatever you and Albert agree on is what’s going to happen.

  Frosty hell, half of them probably suspect that honorably retired Senior Censor Ssu and his dandy little interactive political propaganda program write the speeches that you and Albert and Christos have so much fun delivering, which is the second most closely guarded secret on this planet. And the little people think that’s fine, most of them, seeing as how we’ve gotten rid of most of the people who are disposed to be obnoxious. They have jobs, they’re making money, and they see a little of the vision that Raul and Hanna have of the future.”

  “But Matti, you know the risk we run of losing. There are four warships in our sky, more than five battalions on the ground, and all of Earth behind them. I am leading these people to their deaths.”

  “Oh, dying isn’t so bad, once you get used to it. It’s not having something worth dying for that makes it hurt,” Harjalo said pointedly. “Is what we’ve done here worth dying for?” “Yes, Matti. It is.” Vereshchagin sighed and watched the stars overhead.

  After a few minutes passed, Harjalo commented, “It seems strange to be preparing for a war in a church.”

  “Not for Afrikaners. And perhaps this is something that human beings should pray over.”

  “I will grant you that. How many legislators did Albert fail to invite to this little caucus?”

  “Eight,” Vereshchagin said, lost in thought.

  “Only eight who can’t be trusted with anything important?” Harjalo snorted. “I suppose it will be a few years before the politics here gets sophisticated.” He showed his teeth. “You know, I always thought I would die in a little war in some far-off place.”

  Vereshchagin looked at him oddly. “Matti, this will not be a little war.”

  Haijalo appeared surprised. Then he clenched his teeth and nodded.

  Although Beyers might have won a vote, he ended the session without requesting one, wanting his people to think the matter over for a night. He advised them to pray.

  Wednesday(314)

  SLIPPING IN IN THE EARLY HOURS OF THE MORNING, RAUL

  Sanmartin found out long before he intended to be awake that one vote that Albert had not influenced was his wife’s. Although Bruwer had said little to betray her feelings in conclave, she gave free rein to her anger in private.

  Crawling out from under his pillow, Sanmartin tried to calm her, with predictable results.

  She brushed his hand away. “I listened and I cannot believe or understand why Anton told us that we could win. So tell me—how can we?”

  “It’s a risk—”

  “I gave a grandfather and a stepbrother to the last war, do I have to give the rest of my family to this one? Don’t we have enough worldly goods to give Matsudaira what he demands?” “Hush, hush! Don’t shout,” Sanmartin said soothingly. Troubled, he grasped both her wrists and held her until she calmed.

  “All right.” Bruwer frowned. “All right. But how can Anton say this when even now we cannot unite? The twenty or so black soldiers that you recruited on Ashcroft like Isaac— Wynard Grobelaar is going among the delegates saying how shameful it is that you force Afrikaners to obey orders from blacks, and that we should not give them citizenship. Two people have already told me. Why you and Albert insisted on including that loud-mouthed bully—•”

  “Easy. Easy. Grobelaar is predictable. He’ll be gone. We only want to see if he’ll flush anything out of the bushes before then.”

  “What?” Bruwer’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean ‘he’ll be gone’?”

  “The school nurse and the district psychologist pulled his stepdaughter out of class and spoke to her, they’re arranging to get her into a foster home. It seems Wynard likes young girls,” Sanmartin said as calmly and dispassionately as he dared. He heard the kitten scratching at the door and hoped Hendricka was not with her.

  “Dear God, what a filthy thing!”

  “I gather Vroew Grobelaar knew.” Sanmartin let some of his feelings emerge. “I suppose I could understand prostituting a daughter to keep from starving, but she doesn’t look like she’s been missing many meals.”

  Bruwer’s mouth tightened. “How long have you known?” she demanded with fierce certainty.

  “Two or three days, now. Apparently it got covered up once six or seven years ago.”

  “That poor girl! How could you? And why?” She shook his arm vigorously.

  “Because we knew someone would raise the issue about our black troopers, and we decided Grobelaar would be perfect for the job,” he shouted back.

  “And I suppose that you decided for the girl that another few days wouldn’t hurt!”

  “As a matter of fact, we did. Colonel Sumi is going to need replacements for that comfort detachment of his, and they aren’t coming from Earth. They tend to have a high wastage rate. Grobelaar’s stepdaughter is about the right age. I want to spare her that.”

  “Dear God.”

  “Look, Afrikaners murdered a fair number of cowboys during the rebellion, and before that they did an even better job of massacring the sects. There are only a handful of your people the cowboys and strandloopers trust. Grobelaar is a stalking horse, our designated bigot to lure the rest of the bigots out of hiding.”

  “Dear God, what a filthy business this is!”

  “Joh and some others wanted some assurance. I think that the quiet consensus is that if a racist like Wynard can drum up some support, this planet and the Afrikaner Volk aren’t worth saving. I suspect they’re right.”

  She pounded her fist against him. “But we can’t win, can we? We couldn’t even defeat one battalion and one warship before.”

  Sanmartin took her fist and kissed it “That was because we were that battalion. Hans keeps quoting Voltaire to me to the effect that God isn’t on the side of the big battalions, but favors the ones who shoot the best. If anyone can pull this off, Anton can. ‘Suaviter in modo, fortiter in re, ’ ” he said absently.

  “ ‘Gentle in manner, resolute in deed,’ ” she translated. She struggled with her thoughts, gesturing violently. “Sitting there, deciding who will die? Why do you trust him so very much?” Her voice trailed away. “He’s so, so very smart, but our whole world depends on him, and I don’t understand him and I don’t understand why.”

  “Most of the time, Anton’s place is behind the
lines where he can control things and let other people do their jobs,” Sanmartin said calmly, so quietly that his wife had to steady herself to listen. “But once in a very great while you’ll see him doing a platoon leader’s job. On Ashcroft, when I was executive officer for C Company and we were chasing cakes, cacos, ‘freedom fighters’—whatever you want to call them.”

  He stopped speaking for a moment. “The Jebel d’Aucune was a huge cratered plateau with nearly vertical sides, and we knew a few of them were up there. Captain Samizda, who was commanding the company, thought he could slip up on them in the dark.” Sanmartin tapped his nose thoughtfully. “It was the only mistake I ever saw him make.”

  “What happened?” Bruwer asked.

  “We got ambushed halfway to the top. Samizda didn’t know it, but every second cake on Ashcroft was up there. We got hit from three sides and lost eleven men in as many seconds. After Samizda took a bullet through the throat, I was in charge.” Bruwer shut her eyes tightly.

  “Whenever a commander goes down like that, people wonder how the next man in line will do,” Sanmartin said conversationally. “As the next man, I was wondering myself. We were scattered up and down the mountain, and they were dropping boulders on our heads and skipping bullets off the rocks. To be truthful, I didn’t think any of us were coming back down, least of all me.”

  Bruwer nodded without speaking.

  “For the life of me, I don’t know how the Variag knew or timed it, but all of a sudden Lev Yevtushenko flew up the mountainside in a Sparrow, stalled the plane with its nose pointing straight up in the moonlight, and dropped Anton off, cool as ice. The cakes were so startled they stopped firing for a minute. Sparrows can do some amazing things, but I’ve never seen anyone fly that well, before or since.” He paused.

  “With the Variag telling me what to do on one side and Rudy Scheel on the other, somehow we pulled in our wounded and avoided being overrun. Then I remember Anton tapping that pipe of his and saying, ‘Piotr is on his way. Let us see if we can move number eleven to the top through that chimney in the rock to our left.’ ”