“Shall I cancel the dinner with Janice and instead arrange a more formal meeting at a later time?” asked Vimes.
“No, a promise is a promise and we both need to relax before the storm hits us. No point in worrying her before we get to Arisia. Is that all?”
“Yes, I can deal with the rest, now go and finish your tour; I’ll remind you when it’s time to get ready for dinner.”
Alexander got up and walked between the two Marines, slapping them on their backs, feeling the impact cloth momentarily harden underneath their cloaks.
“Come on gentlemen, we have a ship to tour. Now, where shall we start?” his outward calm belying the acid feeling in his bowels.
Several hours later, Alexander arrived back at his yacht with just enough time to change before meeting up with Admiral Frith. Vimes had already arranged for several bottles of very rare and expensive wine to be delivered to his yacht, along with a large bunch of fresh flowers from the arboretum and botanical garden on Dauntless. Before boarding, he dismissed the two bodyguards and entered, going straight to the washroom. While showering, he went over the summaries Vimes had been feeding him all afternoon, thankful he was there to filter out and take care of the mundane to stop him becoming overwhelmed with information.
Finished dressing, Alexander looked in the mirror, admiring himself for a moment, then smiled at his vanity. He had chosen a dark pink silk shirt, complemented by dark blue trousers and soft, comfortable brown shoes. For most of his time on board ship, he was in uniform or Court dress and didn’t need to think too hard about what to wear. Normally, when in private, Christine chose all of his clothes and had determined his style choice for decades, so he was quietly pleased with today's efforts which were all his own work. One final check and he headed for the exit, picking up the wine and flowers on the way. On exiting the yacht, a servitor droid grew out of the floor and began to tidy up behind him.
The Admiral’s personal staterooms were on the officer's deck and separate from those she used whilst on duty, so it wasn’t long before Alexander was standing outside. For an instant he was tempted to knock, then, remembering with a smile the trick he liked to play on Duke Gallagher, told Vimes to announce his arrival. A few seconds later and the door was opened by Admiral Frith’s partner, Tara.
“Come in, come in,” she said, moving to one side as Alexander extended the flowers in one hand and holding onto the bag that held the bottles in the other. “It’s been far too long, Alexander.”
“Hi, Tara, affairs of State and stuff,” he replied, kissing her lightly on both cheeks, “ You know what it’s like. Anyway, I’m here now.” He looked down at the bag, “Where shall I put these?”
Tara lifted the flowers to her face. “These smell lovely, thank you. Come through and leave the bag on the table. Janice is just finishing off in the kitchen and will be along in a second.”
Alexander followed her into the living area, just off the hallway on the left. At fifteen foot along each side, it opened at one end into a similarly sized kitchen, which doubled as the dining area. Before he could see her, he heard Janice call out, “I’ll be with you in a moment, Alex. Tara will keep you entertained. Does any of the wine need chilling?”
“Hi, Janice. No problem. I brought red so it doesn’t need to be.” He stood, waiting for Tara to indicate he should sit.
“Go on, sit down, don’t stand on ceremony here, Alex,” Tara chided him, indicating to a long, comfortable sofa that ran along almost the full length of one wall, opposite the full-height wall screen. “Do we open yours or one of ours?” she asked him.
“One of his,” Janice called out from the kitchen, “they’re far more expensive than ours, Tara.”
Alexander smiled, appreciating the lack of formality they showed towards him. Tara had moved in with Janice five years ago and he’d warmed to her immediately. He sank down into the sofa, a sigh of relaxation escaping his mouth as he did so. A part of his mind knew his hindbrain couldn’t relax and was even now working furiously to come up with options and solutions to the rebellion and what to do about his son coming back far too early from training, but he owed it to himself to try and have one good night.
He looked up at Tara, who was approaching with a bowl of various salty nibbles in one hand, appreciating what he saw. Medium height, short dark hair, with eyes that twinkled with intelligence and a hint of mischief, she and Janice made a fine couple and he knew it was only when the two of them were together that his Admiral could truly relax and be herself.
Tara sat close beside him, but far enough away to be able to get a good view of his face. “How are you really feeling, Alex?” she asked, watching closely for his reaction.
Alexander hesitated, torn between opening up to his friend but not really wanting to talk business. He looked back into her dark brown eyes, a quizzical expression on his face, debating with himself how to answer. Since Duke Gallagher had left to go home, several weeks previously, he’d been without anyone to confide in. Close as Patrick was to him, what he really missed was the dynamic that an intelligent and warm woman brought. Strangely, he’d always preferred the company of women to men, finding the conversations to be had in their company normally far more interesting than those with his male friends.
Tara sat silently, waiting for her friend and Emperor to open up. Since joining Janice on Dauntless, she’d come to appreciate Alex’s unconditional friendship. At first, she thought his persona was simply a mask, put on as part of his public face, but as time progressed she came to understand that he was, in fact, a genuinely kind and affectionate man, albeit one who was constantly exposed to scrutiny and expected to have the answers to every problem. She worried how anyone could be expected to shoulder such a burden without faltering under the weight.
“I expect Janice has filled you in on what she could,” he replied, knowing that she probably had been told more than most civilians had a right to know, but happy that Janice was a good judge of who to trust with the information, “so you know about the rebellion and all that’s going on?”
Tara nodded and despite Alexander's earlier intention not to talk about it, he felt an almost overwhelming urge rise up within him to open up about his fears for the future. Perhaps it was something in his body language or in his eyes, but Tara sensed words were unimportant at this moment so simply opened her arms and asked, “Do you want a hug, Alex?”
Gratefully, and without any words, he let himself be hugged by his friend, feeling the past few weeks tension really start to leave him for the first time as he held her and let himself relax.
Janice looked around the corner and caught sight of them, smiled and backed away, but not before she caught Tara’s eye and winked, pleased that Alexander had found someone else to help him share the burden. Without Tara’s support, she knew that her command and the responsibilities that came with it would be so much harder to bear. “Goodness knows how he manages it, away from Christine for such long periods of time,” she thought to herself. She waited for thirty seconds then called out, “are those drinks poured yet?” then walked in, making some noise to let them know she was coming.
Scene 13, France, near Wormhout, 28th May 1940
Alexander awoke, feeling stiff and unclean. To his surprise, he’d slept the night through and Vimes, good as his word, had woken him at first light. The distant sounds of artillery explosions resumed as his helmet retracted and the sharp, cold morning air, tinged with an unfamiliar bitter smell, assailed his face and nose. His suit and helmet had kept him comfortably warm during the cold night but the hard ground had made for an uncomfortable bed, leaving his hips and shoulders somewhat sore.
“Good morning, Alexander,” the familiar voice of Vimes sounding in his head, “I’ve managed to download and integrate those languages I mentioned last night and they are available for you to use. As normal, fluency will come with use.”
“Any suggestions what I do next?” Alexander asked, running his tongue around inside his mouth to check if it was
completely healed.
“Eat and drink first, then head towards the nearest town. Go carefully on the protein bars as you only have enough for a week,” came the reply. “As you are in a war zone, send out the two intelligence drones for observation and location.”
Alexander hunted through the pack and pulled out a protein bar, meat flavoured this time as he fancied something savoury for breakfast, followed by the small metal case that contained the drones. Lightweight and either powered from the onboard fuel cells or from sunlight and able to remain aloft for days at a time, they would hover above, providing additional telemetry and real-time information of the surrounding terrain, forewarning him of any danger.
“Well, that’s the theory at least,” Alexander told himself as he set up the small devices and released them into the air with an upwards shove. For a few moments, they hovered just out of reach, then split up and rose rapidly until they merged with the sky and became invisible. Rather than use his helmet, Alexander instructed Vimes to monitor their transmissions and let him know if anything interesting or dangerous popped up, then set about his breakfast, such as it was.
Alexander, a child of the Imperial Court and Palace, was unused to the rigours of rough sleeping, especially for extended periods and without the benefit of modern conveniences. Already, he felt in need of a good wash but the thought of stripping down and swimming in one of the nearby ice-cold streams or pools was not something he could face at the moment. When he’d finished eating, Alexander realised he would need to look for some strong, wide-leaved plants, as toilet tissue wasn’t included in his survival pack. He grimaced, then asked Vimes to overlay a translucent tactical view of the immediate area across the vision of his left eye. Immediately, a three-dimensional picture formed and he focused on the new image, years of practice enabling him to switch between the image and his own sight at will.
He was located just outside and to the south-west of a small village which one of the drones had identified as Wormhout, having read the writing on a wooden signpost as they rose into the sky. Several large farm buildings of some kind were nearby, currently masked by the small copse of trees he was sheltering in. Few people were out and about, probably the rest not wishing to risk being picked up by the advancing enemy or hit by stray munitions. He decided the few who were braving the outdoors were probably farmers with animals to look after. Not far from where he was hiding, Alexander could see over a hundred British soldiers getting ready to defend their position from a larger group of Germans who were advancing and moving on their position.
“What do you make of this, Vimes?” Alexander asked his companion.
“The village is obviously of some strategic value to the British, probably they are looking to slow the advancing Germans to give their comrades on the beach time to escape on the ships and small boats you can see here,” marking their positions on the image in his mind, “It will be interesting to observe how the two sides fight.”
“Should I move closer?” Alexander asked.
“No, I’ll position one of the drones to get a better look and keep the other one sweeping the wider area. It’s safer to stay here for the moment but at some point you will have to decide what to do and pick a side,” he warned Alexander.
“Why do I have to pick a side? What’s wrong with trying to remain anonymous and blending in with the locals?”
“Because you won’t blend in, Alexander. Your skin colour is currently all wrong and you will have a strange sounding accent until your grasp of the languages improve. You are also far taller than the average local, who are at least six inches shorter. No, blending in will be problematic for you.”
Vimes let Alexander digest the implications before continuing, “Experience tells me the victors will probably be the Germans as I have observed they are far better at combining their various units and co-ordinating them together. Their armoured fighting vehicles are no better than those of the British or French, but they use them far more effectively. Same with their air support. Once they have conquered this nation, the logical next step will be to document and identify everyone, restrict free movement, quell dissent and search for spies. You will stand out and be a marked man. No, you have to pick a side and try to ingratiate yourself with them.”
“So you are recommending I go with the Germans rather than the French or British, is that what you are telling me?” he asked, unsure and becoming nervous. He hadn’t realised how different he would look. Intellectually, he knew from his studies that primitive cultures often differentiated people because of superficial things such as hair, eye or skin colour, but he’d never actually experienced or seen it himself and it came as a shock to know he was most certainly a stranger in a strange land for the first time in his sheltered life.
“No, that’s for you to decide, Alex, but I urge you to consider all the variables. Unless you can find a way to contact the Empire you are probably going to spend the rest of your life on this planet, and in light of this planet’s technological level that isn't going to happen anytime soon, so it would be wise to pick the winning side. Remember, however, that winning one battle doesn’t mean they will win the war.”
“Well you’re no bloody help,” Alexander said out loud, frustrated with his companion. “ I need more information, is that what you're saying?”
“Yes, you do,” came the response. “Look, the two sides have begun engaging each other.”
Alexander hunkered down behind the fallen tree, making sure he was safe from stray bullets or shrapnel and let the drone’s picture spread across his field of vision, closing his eyes to heighten the three-dimensional effect. Concentrating on the image, it quickly came into focus and within moments it was as if he was watching it from nearby with his own eyes. He decided to observe the defenders first and zoomed in for a better look. They were in dirty green coloured uniforms of some coarse, but dense, material, with metal helmets on their heads that looked like upturned bowls, making him wonder if they were also used for that purpose. He searched for insignia to denote rank and noted all of the men had small, metal badges that resembled a deer with a rope around it. Underneath he could just make out the words “Royal Warwickshire,” which he assumed denoted a place or nation. The use of the word Royal gave him some hope that these people still followed a monarch of some kind.
The defending soldiers had dispersed themselves into a line, a number of them setting up metal tubes and he watched as basic missiles of some sort were hand fed into one end, which then ejected them with a loud whumping noise and a puff of smoke. Several seconds later the shells landed amongst the Germans, exploding into white hot pieces of shrapnel, making small craters in the densely packed earth of the surrounding fields and hedgerows, across which the advancing troops were crossing. After the first few shells began landing, the Germans sped up, using whatever cover they could find. Small arms fire sounded off in a machine-like fashion; small bursts making a slow rat-a-tat sound which echoed back briefly from the buildings behind which the British had chosen to take cover. Within minutes, the Germans had also set up their own tubes and began dropping explosives onto the British. Alexander watched carefully, fascinated by the sights, sounds, and smells. He could see soldiers, who he understood to be officers, moving between the positions where their men were holed up, obviously encouraging them. Many of the defenders had lit paper tubes and were smoking them so Alexander wondered if they were some sort of primitive battlefield drug to increase aggression or reduce fear. He watched one soldier struggle, with shaking hands, to light one, before his comrade, a burly man of advancing years and three chevrons on his tunic sleeve, reached across and lit it for him. He couldn’t make out what was said between them, but the younger of the two nodded in thanks and went back to firing his long projectile weapon.
It was now too dangerous for Alexander to consider moving away from his position, as travelling along the nearby road or across the flat, open fields would make him an obvious target, so he watched and waited. The firing went on all
morning, the Germans unable to reach the defender's positions, taking heavy losses as they advanced, then retreated, obviously angry that they were being thwarted. Alexander followed several wounded British soldiers being dragged away from the front line and recoiled in horror as he witnessed the primitive attempts at triage. He felt sick as he saw the gaping exit wound on one soldier's thigh, the edges red-raw and resembling shredded meat. Dispassionately, Vimes continued his running commentary.
“Observe how fabric from the uniforms is forced into the body by the projectiles. I hazard this is the main cause of sepsis in the wounds. I can detect only basic antiseptics which indicates infection may be a major cause of death. Look how they apply a sulphur based powder to the wounds, then apply pressure and bandage it.”
“I don’t want to know, Vimes, please stop,” pleaded Alexander, not sure if he could keep his protein bar down, “I don’t want to see anymore.”
“If you insist, Alex, but I strongly advise against it. It is vitally important that you understand and accept how things are done on this planet and obtain an understanding of their warfare, in all its ugly form, as I deem it essential to your survival.”
“OK, but please zoom out, I don’t want to see too much detail,” he replied, a shudder of revulsion shaking him. Vimes complied and the view receded, providing a wider perspective of the battlefield. To the east, along a road leading to the next village, the British had set out a killing zone, stopping the German advance along that front. Several companies of the attackers had back-tracked and began advancing along another road from the north-east, attempting to outflank the defenders. From the fighting going on there, the British hadn’t been taken unawares and were successfully keeping them at bay with their tubes and small arms fire.
As he watched, Alexander thought he spotted something. “Vimes, is it my imagination or are the British firing back less and less?”
Imperium: Revelation: Book Two in the Imperium Trilogy Page 11
