Robert Frezza - [Colonial War 02]

by Fire in a Faraway Place (epub)

  “At once, honored Admiral!” Although mystified, Watanabe hastened to obey.

  WHEN ADMIRAL HORII ARRIVED IN BLOEMFONTEIN, MAJOR HARJALO

  met him at the airstrip with an honor guard.

  “I expected to see Lieutenant-Colonel Vereshchagin with you,” Horii commented as they drove to the spacious hill where the Bloemfontein casern was located.

  “I thought that you had Anton,” Harjalo commented. “Maybe he’s checked himself into the hospital for a short rest. He told me several days ago that he wasn’t feeling well.”

  “Indeed. He should take good care of his health,” Horii said politely.

  Harjalo led him through the bunker he was using as his headquarters and then led him through A Company’s barracks.

  “Your men appear sullen, Major Haijalo,” Horii commented.

  “This is the Iceman’s company. Dour. Dour Finns and Russians, that’s what we are,” Haijalo said jovially. “The bear is our national symbol, metsan omena, the apple of the forest.”

  Horii wondered idly how much of Harjalo’s open, blustering manner was feigned. “Where are the rest of your men?” he asked.

  “I have most of two companies out in the forests. We don’t have room for them here, and I want to make certain there aren’t any more members of the ARM ‘Combat Liberation Detachment’ wandering around,” Haijalo explained as he led Horii toward C Company’s cantonments.

  A high proportion of the battalion’s Afrikaners were out in the forest, on the odd chance that Horii or one of his staffers could distinguish one group of round-eyes from another. Haijalo wasn’t particularly interested in having Horii realize just how high a proportion of the battalion’s present strength had been recruited locally.

  “I am sure that all of your men are concerned about their future,” Horii commented.

  Haijalo grinned. “Most men are, honored Admiral. Most men are.”

  Coldewe and Company Sergeant Beregov were waiting when they reached the C Company area. “This is Captain Hans Coldewe, my C Company commander.”

  Coldewe bowed politely. “Welcome to our humble abode. We’re still in the process of fixing it up,” he said, leading the admiral inside.

  As Horii entered, he spied a large fishbowl, part-full of slips of paper. A little sign said, in case of emergency, break glass.

  “What is this, Captain?”

  Coidewe shrugged. “Sir, it belongs to Corporal Uborevich. He has special permission to keep it.”

  The admiral said nothing, but raised his eyebrows.

  Coidewe flashed a sudden grin. “Uborevich makes more of an effort to cultivate the locals than most of our men do, but Bory looks moderately simian and doesn’t have much luck with the ladies. Whenever some woman tells him to take a walk, he throws her phone number into the pot.”

  Horii smiled at the jest. Moving on to the next building, Coidewe said with obvious pride, “This is our sauna. It took us most of a week to move it here and get it set up again.” Again, Admiral Horii lifted an eyebrow. “A sauna?”

  “It’s hard to keep Finnish troops happy without a sauna,” Coidewe explained. “I rather like it myself. Of course, in a hot climate like this, we had to alter the design.”

  He led the admiral inside and rapped on the doors. “This is the washing room, and this is the steam room.”

  “Most ingenious. It surely must have been difficult for you to obtain the wood,” Horii responded, peering through the glass. He straightened and delicately touched a slender branch lying on a small stand. “And these?”

  “Birchwood vihtas.” Coidewe picked one up and swished it to demonstrate. “The Finnish boys say that a sauna without a vihta is like eating food without salt. A few of the farmers keep greenhouses, and we persuaded one of them to grow some birch trees for us.”

  Private Kriegler’s father could and would grow anything, Coidewe had discovered, if you were willing to listen to him tell you how impossible it was.

  “Most ingenious,” Horii said politely.

  Coidewe gestured. “Next to it is the cold room.” The cold room was ten centimeters deep in snow with a dark pool of water at the far end.

  “Remarkable,” Horii said, looking through the frost-rimed glass.

  “Lieutenant Reinikka, our engineer platoon leader, figured out how to make it snow. To save on energy, we use the heat we pull out of the cold room to warm the steam.”

  “Indeed,” Horii murmured. “One might think the snow excessive. Would not a simple cold shower do as well?”

  “It would, but there’s not much snow on this planet, and it makes it feel a little more like home. Reinikka worked out the sauna design on a planet called Ashcroft which was mostly desert, and nasty desert at that. It helped keep our people from going crazy.”

  “Indeed. And is that building your armory, Captain Coldewe?” “Let me show it to you.” Coldewe escorted him into the old farmhouse, down two flights of steps, and through a steel door. ‘This is Company Armorer Rytov.”

  The armory’s interior was half-full of ammunition boxes of varying dimensions. A number of weapons were neatly racked against the far wall. Rytov was seated behind a long table filing down a trigger housing. Although his whiskers were grizzled badger-gray, Rytov’s white hair gave him almost an angelic expression. His life extended by time dilation and the icebox, Rytov was one of the children evacuated from St. Petersburg and had actually lived through the crack-up. He nodded meekly when the admiral entered, but made no effort to rise or otherwise acknowledge his presence.

  “Senior Ordnance Sergeant Rytov and I have met,” Horii said. “Acting Major Sanmartin brought him to defuse the missiles which were aimed at me.”

  “Want some caviar?” Rytov pushed the zakuski plate in Admiral Horii’s direction.

  “The orange?” Horii asked, amused.

  “Is trout. Farmers raise them in ponds.”

  “And the red?”

  “Is fake. Color it with carrots.”

  “We’re a little short on ammo, sir, and we would appreciate whatever you could deliver. So far, we’ve had trouble getting our supply requests filled,” Coldewe said.

  Horii nodded, well aware of the reasons why Coldewe’s ammunition requests had not been filled. He walked through, looking at the shelves. “Yes, yes. I quite agree. You appear to be very short of ammunition. I will direct my intendance officer to see to this matter. I notice, however, that you have an unusually large amount of liquid artillery propellant on hand.” “That we make for ourselves,” Haijalo explained. “The nitrate factory outside Johannesburg runs an evening shift for us.” “Indeed.” The admiral pointed languidly to a piece of equipment in a comer. “What is this?”

  “It’s a pump. In case we get leakage,” Rytov volunteered, lying smoothly. He held his fingers four centimeters apart. “In die wet season, we get this much rain in an hour.”

  “Indeed. I will mention this fact to my intendance officers. It might assist other units in avoiding such damage.” Horii cocked his head. “You served on Cyclade, did you not? I was there.”

  “Cyclade. Yes, Cyclade was bad,” Rytov reminisced with the air of a connoisseur. His eyes glazed over. “Ashcroft was worse. There was a hell-world. When one boy died, we joked that he asked the Devil if he had to go back. Maksakov, his name was. Yes, Unto Maximovich Maksakov.”

  Horii looked at Rytov thoughtfully, having seen what he came to see. “Major Harjalo, please prepare detailed plans for turning over your heavy weaponry and embarking your battalion on the assault transport Chiyoda to return to Earth.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That will be ail, Major. Please have your plan ready to show to me on Wednesday. Captain Coldewe can see me off.” After Haijalo bowed and left, Horii said, “Captain Coldewe, I imagine that your company will be anxious to see Earth again.” “It has been a long time. We’ve jumped around a lot. I imagine a lot of us will want to think about emigrating to other colonial worlds.”

  “Possibly, possi
bly,” Horii said genially. “I would consider this if I were much younger. Tell me, Captain Coldewe, what do you think will happen with the political situation here?”

  “I imagine that USS Director Matsudaira wants to do some things that will get the people here stirred up,” Coldewe said with perfect candor. “Very stirred up, if you understand me.” “Ah! But the people here should understand not to challenge the Imperial Government.” Horii gestured. “The Finnish have fought many wars against Russians and know that ants should not challenge elephants, is this not correct, Senior Ordnance Sergeant Rytov?”

  Rytov nodded, lost in thought behind his workbench.

  “You would like to return home, would you not, Senior Ordnance Sergeant Rytov?”

  “Home?” Rytov looked up. He said fiercely, “With all my heart.”

  Horii allowed Coldewe to escort him to his plane. Horii failed to realize that “home” to Rytov meant long-dead St. Petersburg. Absent magic to bring the dead to life, Rytov didn’t intend to leave a C Company armory until someone drove a stake through his heart.

  More interested in weapons than people, Rytov didn’t remember what he wanted to say about ants and elephants until several minutes after the admiral left.

  “Sosialististen Neuvostotasavaltojen Liito voitti hyvdna kakkosena tuli maaliin pieni sisukas Suomi, ” he muttered to himself as he worked. It was a famous line from a novel about Finland’s Continuation War—“The Soviet Union won, but spunky little Finland came in a good second.”

  Monday(315)

  ADMIRAL HORII’S MORNING STAFF MEETING WOULD HAVE BEWIL-

  dered any foreigner. Because Japanese affect to believe that they are a “unitary race” with a “homogeneous existence,” many of them think that they have “anticipatory perception” which enables them to intuit what other Japanese are thinking. Thus, a peculiarly Japanese way of negotiating compromise between opposing viewpoints is to negotiate “through the strength of one’s personality” rather than by arguing the matter. At best, haragei, as it is called, involves considerable ambiguity; at its worst, it can be described as communication devoid of communication.

  Because both Admiral Horii and the advocates for immediate action were determined to avoid an open breach, much of the “discussion” was unspoken, and the remainder was shockingly imprecise. As Horii observed to Watanabe, “Thoughtlessly using the imperfect medium of words would have ended up pouring cold water on a unified understanding that was only achieved with great difficulty.”

  Unfortunately, Admiral Horii left the meeting with the impression that Colonel Sumi agreed that further delay was necessary, while Sumi left with the assumption that Horii had tacitly approved of seizing Vereshchagin and Beyers so long as it could be accomplished without stirring up things too much.

  The few officers present who believed that seizing Vereshchagin and Beyers—either now or later—was stupid and unnecessaiy did not feel it appropriate to make their views known.

  Tuesday(315)

  AFTER CHECKING THE ROOM FOR WIRETAPS, COLONEL SUMI TOLD

  the officers of his two security companies, “You see copies of an operations order on the table in front of you. Please review your part. Its purpose is to arrest Lieutenant-Colonel Anton Vereshchagin, Albert Beyers, and their principal subordinates.

  I have been informed that Vereshchagin will meet with Beyers this evening at the president’s residence, and we will arrest them there. The Manchurian regiment will place a battalion of men around the casern in Bloemfontein to ensure that Vereshchagin’s men do not interfere.”

  Major Nishiyama said hesitantly, “We are indeed eager to carry out your orders. I am certain that you and Admiral Horii have thought through all of the uncertainties in such an operation.” Sumi marked Nishiyama for replacement at the first opportunity. “I will take full responsibility,” he barked. ‘These men nurture treasonous intentions. We are at an extremely crucial juncture in history. The mission of the people of Yamato is to prevent the human race from becoming diabolic. You must endeavor to arrest these men with the least amount of disturbance so that opposition may be speedily crushed!”

  He glowered at his men. “You will repeat after me, ‘For existence and self-defense, our nation has no other recourse but to appeal to force of arms and to crush every obstacle in its path.’ ” The officers present did so dutifully.

  “We will sacrifice everything to our nation’s cause,” Sumi chanted rhythmically. “We resolve to dedicate ourselves, body and soul, to the nation. The key to victory lies in faith in victory.”

  His officers repeated this litany.

  Holding his sword high, Sumi concluded, “We pledge ourselves never to stain our glorious heritage, but to go forward until the eight comers of the world are under one roof.”

  Two hours later, the blacklegs and Manchurians began moving out.

  IN A CAVERN IN THE UPPER STORMBERG RANGE, TIMO HAERKOENNEN

  left his equipment and unceremoniously pushed open Matti Haijalo’s door. “Sir, Lieutenant Thomas says that five companies of Manchurians are on the move, apparently on their way to Bloemfontein. Also, several truckloads of blacklegs are leaving the Pretoria casern, heading downtown.”

  Stretched out on his hammock fully dressed, Harjalo opened his eyes.

  “They took down the phones and began jamming all frequencies very, very heavily about five minutes ago,” Haerkoennen added.

  Haijalo thought quickly. “This is it, then. Tell everybody to

  execute plan A for Akita. Anton is with Raul and Albert. What is their status?”

  “They have not reported in. Lieutenant Thomas is trying to reach them directly.”

  Haijalo sprang up. “All right, Timo. Let’s get everybody moving.”

  VERESHCHAGIN, BRUWER, SANMARTIN, AND ALBERT BEYERS WERE

  sitting in Beyers’s study when Tom Winters came in. The nominal secretary had a silenced submachine gun in his hands and two more slung over his shoulder. “The street outside is filling up with blacklegs.”

  Hanna Bruwer glanced anxiously at her husband. Vroew Beyers appeared cradling Hendricka.

  “Out die back?” Vereshchagin asked, accepting one of the weapons.

  Winters shook his head. “The men on the roof spotted them there, too.”

  “Out the tunnel, then,” Sanmartin said, arming himself and pushing Albert and Betje Beyers ahead of him. Vereshchagin patted Bruwer on the shoulder to move her along.

  Hendricka squirmed in Betje Beyers’s arms. “My kitten,” she protested, aware that something was not right.

  “You must be quiet, and you must be brave,” Betje Beyers whispered in her ear as they hurried down the cellar steps.

  Inside the tunnel, dim, blue, bioluminescent light made it possible to see a few meters. Vereshchagin shut the door and bolted it. “Please put on the shoes and jackets there.”

  Sanmartin gave his daughter a pill to take, wrapped a blanket around her, and slung her into a harness he could wear on his back.

  “There’s no water,” she complained.

  The muted sounds of rifle fire penetrated from the street above, then the roar of a command-detonated mine.

  “This is important. Just chew it, honey. It’ll make you sleepy,” he coaxed, holding her head gently but forcefully.

  “Please do this right now, Hendricka,” Bruwer said, struggling into ankle-high boots.

  A moment later, the child was asleep. Sanmartin led the party, leaving Vereshchagin to bring up the rear.

  The tunnel had been put in at the same time that the sewer had been laid, and Betje Beyers used the sewer pipe to steady herself. “Is Tom coming?” she asked.

  “Please whisper. The pipe may make it possible to hear our voices,” Vereshchagin said. “The mine means that Tom did not like what the security policemen had to say. I am afraid that he is dead.”

  “He was a good trooper. A lousy typist. I hope that the boys on the roof get away,” Sanmartin said, knowing full well that they would stay, to b
uy time.

  “I wonder if the admiral knows about this,” Albert Beyers said.

  “I’m not sure that it matters,” Sanmartin said. “I think we’re committed, either way.”

  A moment later, Betje Beyers turned around to look behind her. “Where is Anton? Should we wait?”

  Sanmartin smiled. “He’ll catch up. He’s arming the booby traps. Just in case.”

  They emerged into a safe house nineteen blocks away.

  “Is there a car here?” Beyers asked.

  “Yes, but we won’t be taking it,” Sanmartin replied. “They probably have enough sense to cordon the roads and check passengers. We’ll rest here for a moment and then walk to where we can be picked up.” He put his arm around Betje Beyers and brushed away the tears forming at the comers of her eyes. “It is all right, Mother. Everything will be all right.”

  FEELING SELF-CONSCIOUS, LIEUTENANT LANGERMANN WALKED UP

  to the factory gate. Three of Langermann’s sixteen reservists hadn’t shown up at the rendezvous, and he hoped that they would eventually catch up. The plant’s lights were on, and Langermann could hear the sound of machinery indicating they were running a third shift.

  The night watchman was reading a mildly pornographic book and didn’t notice Langermann until he rapped on the glass.

  “It is all right. We are the good guys. We have a warrant from President Beyers,” Langermann assured the watchman, pointing to the Vierkleur flash and Vereshchagin’s salamander crest hastily sewn on to his battle dress. Langermann and his men had exchanged their old, worn uniforms for new ones, which would better shield them from sensors; Langermann’s itched. Unable to resist the temptation, he said, “Take me to your leader.”

  With one eye to the assault rifle under Langermann’s arm, the watchman lost no time unlocking the gate and escorting him to his shift manager. As they entered the facility, Langermann’s men fanned out on their separate tasks.

  “Heer Kemp, this man needs to see you,” the watchman told his boss timidly.