Daylight on Iron Mountain

by David Wingrove

  She smiled down at him. ‘Yeh-yeh Jiang…’

  Her hand was holding his, hers warm, his cool.

  His smile blossomed. ‘Sweetheart…’

  She was the prettiest thing, eight years old and the image of her mother.

  ‘You’ve been sleeping, Yeh-yeh…’

  ‘Sleeping…’ And he laughed his gentle, old man’s laugh.

  It was almost as if he could see himself from above. Some days he seemed to leave himself completely.

  The big screen in the corner was murmuring something. He looked away from Lo Wen, his weak eyes struggling to focus, to make sense of it. He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but it sounded urgent somehow. Something was happening.

  He gently squeezed her hand. ‘Darling girl… turn it up, will you?’

  Lo Wen jumped up and went across. At once the noise grew clearer, sharper.

  Just then his daughter, Ch’iao-chieh, appeared in the doorway. Seeing the images on the screen, she put out her hand, calling Lo Wen to her.

  ‘Sweetheart… go into the garden for a while with the others. I just want to talk to Grandpa…’

  As Lo Wen vanished outside, Ch’iao-chieh closed the door after her.

  ‘Help me sit up,’ he said, putting his hand out to her.

  She sat him up, plumping the cushions behind him, then sat beside him, where Lo Wen had sat a moment before.

  She took his hand. ‘Are you all right, fu chin?’

  He stared past her at the screen. ‘Is it war?’

  She nodded.

  ‘It is the Seven, neh? Fighting Tsao Ch’un for control over things?’

  Again she nodded.

  He leaned back, closing his eyes, then sighed. ‘I always thought it would be so. It was merely a matter of time.’

  She squeezed his hand tenderly. ‘What was he like, Tsao Ch’un?’

  Jiang laughed. ‘He was a tyrant even then. What other kind of man could have unified a world? But he wasn’t wrong, was he? Mankind could not go on being at its own throat.’

  Opening his eyes again, he could see at once that she was not convinced.

  ‘Isn’t that exactly where we are right now? At each other’s throats?’

  But Jiang Lei merely shrugged. ‘I’m tired now, Ch’iao-chieh. Let me rest.’

  ‘Shall I…?’ She gestured towards the set.

  ‘Yes, yes… turn it off… I don’t need to see what’s happening.’

  And that was true. Besides, even that smallest effort had worn him out.

  He heard her footsteps leave the room, heard the door close quietly after her.

  So who was it to be? Tsao Ch’un or the Seven?

  Jiang Lei sighed, then closed his eyes once more. After a moment he began to snore.

  Karl looked about him at the men in the cruiser with him. It was twenty years since he had seen some of them; others he had been drinking with only a week ago. Now they were comrades again, ‘rebels’ as the media termed them, and in just over an hour they would be going into action once again.

  That is, if they weren’t shot out of the air.

  They were heading for New York – right into the heart of the storm. Two thousand men, hand-picked by Marshal Raikkonnen, sent in to locate and protect Wu Hsien. And, if possible, bring him safely back to Europe.

  It was one hell of a fucking task.

  Karl checked his gun for the third time, then looked across the aisle again. Anders and Dag were talking, leaning in to speak to each other’s ear over the roar of the cruiser’s engines. A bit further on from them, Einar, who he had fought beside in the Californian campaign, stared into the air in the way he always did. Beyond him was Ragnar and, right at the front of the craft, near the cockpit, Henrik and Sven. Old friends. Men you could rely on.

  Even so, some doubts remained. Two thousand of them, and what did they face? Almost half a million men.

  Karl took a long deep breath. He was sure Raikkonen knew what he was doing. He always had in the past. They’d been outnumbered before and triumphed, only they’d never faced such odds before. Not to speak of their lack of preparation.

  It was a gamble. Everyone knew that. But one worth taking. If they lost Wu Hsien…

  Anders leaned towards him. ‘Karl! You remembered the grenades?’

  Karl grinned. It had happened once before, in Monterey, but only the once. Even so, Anders liked to tease him by reminding him.

  Karl patted his kitbag. ‘I have spares if you need them!’ he yelled back.

  ‘Oh, we’ll need them all right!’

  There were savage grins from all the others. They would find Wu Hsien and bring him back. After all, when had they ever failed to complete a mission?

  ‘And after that, we’ll kick Tsao Ch’un’s arse!’ Dag said, scratching at his neck, his face hard.

  And all the while Einar stared into space, just like he always had.

  Reed stepped into the shadowed hallway and set his bag down, then closed the door quietly behind him.

  From somewhere inside the big house he could hear a TV. It would be tuned to the latest news, if he knew his father, though for once he could understand the old man. Things were developing fast out there.

  He walked through, the newscast getting louder and clearer as he stepped into the kitchen.

  Jake was sitting with his back to the doorway, cradling a cup of ch’a as he watched the screen intently. Standing nearby was his wife, Peter’s stepmother, Mary. She too was captivated by what was happening on screen.

  Peter hesitated, then cleared his throat.

  The two of them turned as one. Seeing him, their faces lit up.

  ‘Peter!’ Jake said, getting up and coming over to hug his boy. ‘We were worried…’

  And for once they were right to be, he thought. Bremen wasn’t the place to be right now. He let Mary embrace him, then stepped back, looking towards the screen again.

  ‘What’s been happening?’

  ‘A battalion of the Northern Banners have gone in…’

  ‘The Northern Banners? Already? But I thought…’

  Peter shook his head. Things were moving fast.

  ‘Where?’ he asked. But his question was redundant. His answer was up there on the screen. They’d gone in to the New York stacks. Two thousand men, armed to the teeth. To find Wu Hsien and bring him out.

  ‘What’s going to happen?’ Jake asked, standing alongside him, looking at him now rather than the screen, as if he knew any more about it than the news media.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he answered truthfully. ‘But I couldn’t stay there. It would-n’t surprise me if Tsao Ch’un makes a strike at Bremen.’

  ‘We’re just glad you’re home, Peter,’ Mary said, her eyes looking at him with concern. ‘Home and unharmed. You should let Meg know you’re back.’

  ‘I called her on the way back. She should be on her way…’

  ‘Good.’ But Mary looked like she was going to cry. ‘Gods, this is frightening. I just wish the girls were home…’

  ‘They’ll be okay,’ Jake chipped in. ‘They’ll be safe on the plantations.’

  But Peter wasn’t so sure. For once he agreed with Mary. If things were going to fall apart, he’d rather they were all here, facing it together.

  On the screen there was a big explosion, followed seconds later by another.

  ‘Look,’ Jake said, ‘they’re going in…’

  The camera close-upped on a small group of Hung Mao soldiers as they blasted their way into a ventilation shaft and disappeared out of sight.

  ‘I thought we’d done with wars,’ Mary said quietly.

  Jake stepped across and put his arms round her. ‘It’s gonna be okay. Right? Whoever wins… All we’ve got to do is keep our heads down and wait things out. There’s food in the pantry and…’ He sighed. ‘It’s not the first time, neh?’

  Only Peter could see that for all his reassurances, Jake too was scared. Because no one could see where this was going. This could b
ring the whole thing tumbling down again.

  As for his own dashed hopes…

  No, he wasn’t going to say a thing about the contract. He’d lost it now and it was gone for good. He was pretty sure about that, because even if his side won – and what chance was there of that? – it’d be a different world after this.

  ‘Who d’you want to win?’ Jake asked, looking to him again. ‘The Seven or… you know who…’

  ‘Tsao Ch’un?’

  He looked up at the camera on the far side of the kitchen, and shrugged. He wasn’t going to say – not while there was still a chance someone was watching – but even not saying was an answer. He wanted the Seven to triumph. He wanted that new order they were sure to bring. Only realistically they didn’t stand a chance. Tsao Ch’un had all of the firepower, after all, and firepower was important. It outranked wishful-thinking every time.

  Only right then, even as he thought it, something happened. There was a fanfare up on the screen and then, suddenly, a newscaster was reading a statement they had received fresh over the airwaves.

  ‘News is coming in from City Australasia that one of Tsao Ch’un’s Banner armies… the Fourth Banner Army, we understand… has mutinied. We understand that its commander, Marshal Ku, has been killed, along with seven of his most senior officers in a coup by junior officers, the leader of whom has declared for the Seven…’

  ‘Fucking hell….’

  Mary looked to her husband. ‘Jake…language…’

  ‘But Jesus…a whole fucking Banner army. Tsao Ch’un only has six of them.’

  ‘Had,’ Peter said, wondering what effect this would have on events. The Fourth Banner was the smallest of the six and City Australasia the least of the seven cities, only… if this had a knock-on effect. If the other Banners heard of this…

  Jake looked to him and grinned. ‘D’you think…?’

  But Peter didn’t answer. Crossing the kitchen quickly, he crouched over the comset and, tapping in the code, waited to be connected.

  ‘Who’re you calling?’ Jake asked, coming alongside him again.

  ‘GenSyn… Your old friend, Alison… my boss!’

  Tsao Ch’un sat at his desk, contemplating the news.

  Fortunately he had put his most important forces into the personal charge of his sons, and as far as he could make out, there was no question of their loyalty. But this betrayal had shaken him. He had not expected it at all.

  He would have to change his strategy. Forget Wu Hsien. Forget picking them off one by one. He needed to be decisive. To deal with this at a stroke.

  Bremen was the key. If he could take Bremen… Only the news from his agents in Bremen was that Bremen was impregnable. They had turned it into a citadel.

  So what next? Assassins?

  Tsao Ch’un sighed irritably. He had already tried assassins, but none of them had got through.

  Well then, he’d send a fresh wave and then another. As many as he could spare. One surely must get through. And maybe that was all it would take to shake them and weaken their resolve.

  And if that failed?

  Then he would nuke them. And fuck the consequences.

  Alison blanked the screen then sat back.

  The contract Peter had been working on was on the desk beside her. Worthless now, of course, for why would the Seven want to clone themselves, even if they won? They had sons, good ones. And Tsao Ch’un… he’d not be interested now in anything that had GenSyn’s imprint on it, thanks to Ebert declaring for the Seven. He’d probably put the lot of them up against a wall.

  But it had been sweet of Peter to call her. Sweeter still to hear from Jake, even if it was only to say goodbye, good luck.

  She stared at the blackness of the screen a moment. Then she leaned forward and, pulling open the drawer, took out the neat, pearl-handled gun she kept there. It was a ladies’ gun, from the time before the City. An illegal item, stamped with its maker’s mark.

  Remington.

  She smiled, a sad, partly bitter smile. It was over. She had known it from the moment she’d had the news from Fan Chang’s palace. They could not win. They could only prolong the end.

  She took a cartridge from the box and loaded it.

  She paused a moment, thinking of her son, and of what he’d think when he heard the news. It would break his heart. Only she could not live through all that again. Could not see it all come down another time.

  ‘Goodbye,’ she whispered. Then, placing the gun into her mouth, she pulled the trigger.

  ‘Is there still no news?’

  Li Chao Ch’in looked up from the report he was reading and gave a roar of delight, jumping to his feet. ‘Tsu Chen! Hou Hsin-Fa! Cousin Wang! When did you get here?’

  The three T’ang beamed back at him. ‘We’ve just got in,’ Wang Hui So answered, embracing him. ‘Under the umbrella, you might say.’

  ‘Does Amos know you’re here?’

  ‘It was he who arranged it,’ Tsu Chen answered him, grasping his hands. ‘Hence the uniforms…’

  Standing back a little, Li Chao Ch’in saw now what he’d failed to notice straight away – that they were garbed in the uniforms of common soldiers.

  ‘Good disguises, neh?’ Hou Hsin-Fa said. ‘But our question… is there any news of cousin Wu?’

  Li Chao Ch’in shook his head. ‘None yet. But that, I feel, is a good thing. If he were dead, that bastard would be showing off his body and rubbing our noses in the fact.’

  ‘But no word from Raikkonen about the rescue mission?’

  ‘Only that it continues. They’ve suffered heavy losses.’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ Tsu Chen said. ‘It was an audacious thing to do.’

  ‘We had to do something, and a proper campaign would have taken weeks to organize.’

  ‘And the news from Australasia?’

  ‘Is good. Chi Cheng Yu is in firm command. The new marshal has sworn personal fealty to him. He and all of the Fourth Banner.’

  ‘And the muster? How many finally turned up?’

  ‘More than ninety thousand…’

  The three T’ang stared at him. ‘Are you serious?’ Tsu Chen asked.

  ‘Not enough to form a proper Banner, I know…’

  ‘No, no… it’s good. It’s very good. They’re excellent soldiers. None better. And it’s better than nothing, only…’

  ‘You’d hoped for more…’

  ‘Yes. Twice that number.’

  ‘They’re battle-hardened, experienced men,’ Li Chao Ch’in went on, ‘and that experience will count when confronting forces who have no experience of open warfare.’

  ‘Maybe. Only will it be enough?’

  Li Chao Ch’in shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Only time will tell. But there is one thing in our favour. Tsao Ch’un could not have expected them to muster quite so quickly. The speed with which they’ve done so will certainly have taken him by surprise. From what our spies have learned, his own forces have been unaccountably slow in their preparations. And that might prove decisive.’

  ‘In the short term, maybe,’ Wang Hui So said, ‘but the war’s still his to lose, not ours to win.’

  There was a momentary silence. No one challenged Wang Hui So’s statement. Each of them knew they were walking a fine line. Wang spoke again. ‘But come now, cousins. Let’s not despair. Let’s see what Shih Shepherd has to say for himself.’

  They went through, into the Strategy Room. Shepherd was waiting for them there. Seeing them, his handsome features creased into a smile.

  Amos Shepherd, like his long-time Master, Tsao Ch’un, was in his seventies now. But he was well preserved for his age, his face and arms tanned from the sun, his green eyes bright with intelligence.

  ‘My Lords…’

  The greetings over, they sat, looking up at the great map, conscious of the historic context of the place.

  Much of the logistics of the North American campaign had been worked out in this room. All of the ‘follow-up stuff’ as She
pherd called it. The fine detail. The big decisions, of course, had been made by Shepherd and Marshal Jiang in a hotel room in Richmond, over a wei ch’i board. But this chamber had played its part. As now it would again.

  ‘Okay,’ Shepherd said, addressing them directly. ‘We’ve little time, so might I suggest this… with ninety thousand men at our immediate disposal, it makes no sense to use them as a single force. What I’m suggesting is that we split the Northern Banners into smaller units of two thousand men – much like the assault force that went in to New York earlier. That’d give us forty-five tiny armies, fifteen to a Banner, that can be flown in to hot spots, and that can be used to turn the tide against Tsao Ch’un.’

  Li Chao Ch’in looked about him. His fellow T’ang clearly liked the idea.

  ‘Moreover,’ Shepherd went on, taking their smiles for agreement, ‘we move them out of Bremen as swiftly as we can. And ourselves. The more we concentrate our forces here, the more likely we are to become a target. It would not surprise me if Tsao Ch’un decided to try a nuclear strike against us. So let’s not be here for that. Let’s spread ourselves a little wider, a little thinner, and make it difficult for Tsao Ch’un to pick us off.’

  Wang Hui So spoke up. ‘And the disposal of the troops… who decides on that?’

  ‘I thought we’d leave that to the individual marshals. We can provide guidance, of course, and identify priorities. But it’s important, I feel, that they be given the power to fight this war the best way that they can, unhampered, without one hand tied behind their backs all the while. Tsao Ch’un believes he has an advantage over us in that regard. The fact that there’s but one of him and several of you. He thinks that’ll make it easier for him – that his decisions will be faster, more responsive to the situation, whereas, if we do this, it’ll give the advantage to us. His sons against our marshals… I know who I’d back to win…’

  ‘If our forces were even…’ Tsu Chen said. ‘But two thousand men…?’

  ‘Trust me,’ Shepherd said, looking from one to the other. ‘Sometimes sheer weight of numbers can prove a handicap. Just think. There’s the problem of feeding all those mouths, of finding transport to move them swiftly from one point to another. The larger the force the bigger the problems, whereas our much smaller forces won’t have any of that. We can drop them in and pull them out again. Use them precisely where they’re needed. And no need to worry about lines of supply.’