"All you have to do is go to Raven's Mill and set up the portal," Sheida said. "Your contact on that end is General Lanzillo, who has been briefed that you are arriving. The timing on portal generation is tight, but we'll have communications on it. All you have to do is stand by until the portal has to be generated, generate it and then you're done."
"I have meetings." Elnora said, frowning and brushing her light brown hair out of her eyes.
"Elnora," Sheida said, gently, "there is a time and a place for everything. What we have been working on is of vast importance. In the long term. But at this time the most important thing we have to consider is whether we can prevent New Destiny from taking our eastern cities so that we can keep working on those policies. You can't work on civilization if the barbarians are inside the gates."
"Intellectually, I'm aware of that," Elnora said, grimacing. "However, much as I admire the military, of course, at a distance."
"You're not comfortable with them," Sheida said, smiling slightly. "I understand. However, in this case."
"I'll do it," Elnora said. "When should I leave?"
"Unfortunately, as soon as possible," Sheida said. "We need to ensure that everything is prepared."
"Right away?" Elnora said, gasping. "But I'll have to instruct my aides."
"Elnora," Sheida said, firmly, "go to Chin. Contact General Lanzillo. Put in a portal to Raven's Mill through one of the inactive gates. Go to Raven's Mill. Ensure that you're ready for the rest when you get there. Please."
"Very well, Sheida," Elnora said, standing up and nodding. "If that's all?"
"Have fun?" Sheida asked. "Think of it as research. Studying the myrmidon in its natural habitat."
* * *
"Mr. Chambers?" Elnora said, frowning slightly. "Sorry to bother you."
Chambers looked up at the avatar and then stood up. He had been working late in his office in the War Department and he carefully controlled the start at seeing the Key-holder in the room.
"Mistress Sill," he said, bowing from the waist.
"Oh, posh, Mr. Chambers," Elnora said, waving a hand. "I don't need that. But I do need a bit of advice."
* * *
Harry Chambers had been an agent of New Destiny for nearly three years. He hadn't intended to become an agent; it had just sort of. happened. A touch of bitterness and a bit of hubris had caused him to talk about things he shouldn't have talked about. Small things. Then a little stroking, some favors granted and before he knew it he'd turned over real information, the sort that could get you hanged. After that, one thing had led to another.
If you're two hundred years old and even half bright, it was hard in the middle of the night to lie to yourself. He'd been manipulated, sure, but he'd let himself be manipulated. What had the UFS done for him? What had Sheida and Edmund done for him? Edmund had damned near cut his leg off in the moments after the Fall. Sure, they'd been sparring and who knew that the personal protection fields were going to fall just then. But it had still been a damaging wound. He still limped from it, even healed. Sure, it should be "completely healed" and unnoticeable. But he could still feel the blade slicing into his quad. For a person who had always considered his body his best asset, that sort of wound was mentally crippling. And Sheida, the bitch, when Tanisha gave up her Key, who did it go to? Did it go to her closest aide? No, it went to a woman, an academic, somebody who didn't know what was happening in the world without a ten-thousand-word briefing.
And he'd passed information right under their noses. Gotten them back for all the things they'd done to him. And New Destiny had money, lots of money, for the sorts of information he passed. No way to spend it, not yet, but there would be. He had a sack full of gems ready for a quick exit. Hit a couple of portals, get to the exterior of the teleport shield and he was golden.
He'd been considering taking just such an exit lately. He'd been Sheida's aide since right after the Fall. But just last month he'd been "promoted" to a war department undersecretary position, a liaison to the House of Lords. Technically he should be getting even better information than before; he could call on any information available in the war department. But some of the information he had been sent. didn't make sense. Didn't quite fit other information he was sure about.
If he was being fed disinformation, it meant that someone suspected him.
Sheida had become. cooler as well. And there were rumors, rather well-placed ones, that an intelligence service had been formed. Oh, there was already the Intelligence Coordination Committee, but this other service didn't even have a name. "The Group" was the name most often associated with it, the head of it just known as "T." There was a confidential budget, a rising one, but that was all he had heard about it.
He knew for a fact that the Intelligence Coordination Committee did not suspect him. But this other "Group" might. In which case, he should bolt.
The problem was, now he saw what used to be called a "main chance."
"The problem is," the stupid woman babbled, "Sheida's sent me off like I'm some soldier of hers but without even that much briefing. I don't know any of these people."
"I know General Lanzillo," Harry said, soothingly. "A good man, a good academic. He's the local area commander but since most of what he handles is schools, he was chosen for his experience in military history and military sciences. He is a bit. uhm. gruff."
"The problem is that Sheida is expecting me to handle some of the military aspects as well," Elnora said, frowning. "I don't know a battalion from a legion. This has to be held very closely you understand. I really need."
"I'm free at the moment," Harry said, smiling. "And. used to this sort of harum scarum military operation. I can leave a message that I've been called away on Council business. That won't be questioned. If you would like me to accompany you and help. ?"
"That would be wonderful."
* * *
Rachel fingered the blade in the candlelight. It was somewhat like a long knife, a surgical blade designed for deep cutting in amputations. Good dwarven surgical steel, it was sharper than any dagger, with a razor-sharp point. She had made a scabbard for it under the noses of her guards, the guards now surrounding her tent, and slipped it into her bosom while in the latrine. It was her court of last resort.
The battle would probably start around dawn. By noon her father would have probably beaten the New Destiny forces, given what she had communicated. But win or lose, Conner would be able to take her back to Ropasa. And she wasn't going to let that happen.
She placed the point of the scalpel at the top of her neck, just under the skull. She'd considered several options but all of the rest depended upon bleeding, something that could be fixed relatively quickly. No matter how good Conner was, he was going to be hard-pressed to revive her with a severed third vertebra. It was an interesting question in neural transmission and muscle flexion. Could she cut her spine before the signals to her arms became scrambled. A modern physician certainly had the strength to cut their own spine. But was it possible?
She thought she would probably find out tomorrow.
She pressed the scalpel in a bit harder and flinched as she felt the fine tip cut into her skin. She could find out now.
She withdrew it from her thick hair, a problem that she'd already considered, and wiped the tip off on a cloth. Then she slid it back into the scabbard and down into her bosom.
Tomorrow would be soon enough. As the thief said, maybe the pig would sing. As long as she was still on this side of the portal, there was hope.
* * *
"Too many things to go wrong, boss," Herzer said as Edmund mounted the wyvern.
"If some go right, we're no worse than we'd be otherwise," Edmund said. "If most go right, we'll be better. If none of them go right, we're up a creek."
"Well, we'll be there," Herzer said, saluting. "Good luck."
"Same to you," Edmund replied, then tapped the wyvern-rider on the shoulder. The dragon hopped onto the catapult and was launched into the s
ky, the leader of the UFS now headed to join the First Legion.
Herzer went down into the wyvern bay, which was crowded with extra dragons, and passed through it to the flight ready room. The riders were crowded too; it was standing room only on the last dragon-carrier in the UFS fleet. The riders were joking, the sound was good but. strained. Many of them were from carriers that were burned, sunken, wrecks. And all of them had been at sea for too long in the crowded ships. They also felt the tension of the day that had yet to dawn. Everyone knew that throwing the enemy back was important. None of them, besides Herzer and Joanna, knew how important.
"Settle down," Herzer said, stepping up in front of a plywood-covered map board. "Everyone know the mission?" They'd had the initial brief the night before so there was a scattered chorus on the varied theme of yes.
"Sergeant Fink?" Herzer said, pointing at the junior rider.
"We take off in." Fink looked at the bulkhead-mounted clock and gulped, "one hour. Assemble off Wilamon Point. Wait for first engagement then, on signal from Commander Gramlich, split into two echelons and bombard the New Destiny field force. Return by divisions and continue sorties until exhaustion or defeat of the New Destiny force. In the event of retreat on the part of our own forces, we cover the retreat."
"Very good," Herzer said, nodding and looking around the room. "Everybody got that?"
"Yes, Major," one of the riders from the Richard said. "It's easy enough."
"And known throughout the ship, right?" Herzer said. "Meg. Mistress Travante swept this room for technologicals before this meeting. All the corridors around us are being secured by marines, unobtrusively. Why? Because everything that Sergeant Fink just said is. let us call it a lie. This is your real mission brief."
* * *
"First call!" the sergeant bellowed, pounding on the doors. "Boots and saddles!" He continued down the corridor, pounding on the door of each of the Blood Lords that were stationed at Raven's Mill. He was charge of quarters and it was time to face the bright new day. In another hour he'd be off-duty for twenty-four hours, after having been on-duty for the same, and he intended to be deep in the arms of Morpheus in two.
Behind the sergeant the platoon sergeants of the Blood Lord battalion spread out, passing the word they'd just been given.
"Drop the PT uniform," the triari said, shaking his head. "Full armor and weapons. Draw starts in fifteen minutes."
"What the hell?" the private said, dropping the light cosilk uniform back in his footlocker and pulling out a field uniform. "Why?"
"The damned general's called a surprise inspection for 0800 hours. There's time for chow at least."
* * *
Malcolm D'Erle was dogged. There was no other way to describe it. His feet were burning, his chest was on fire and he was dog weary.
The archer corps had debarked at Wilamon on schedule and, after collecting some sketchy transport, had headed for the battlefield. It was sixty-five kilometers by road from Wilamon to the hilltop they were intending to use and they had a bare fourteen hours to make the movement. They'd marched in a standard series of quick march and double-time with breaks every hour. But the breaks seemed shorter and shorter as the time went on. The transport was mostly carrying water and the general had passed brutal messages on intake and usage of same. Food could wait. Rest could wait. The only thing that mattered was getting the majority of the archers, in some half-living condition, to the hill, on time.
And they'd made it. It was two hours before dawn when a group of green-clad, longbow-toting Rangers stepped out into the road and waved a bullseye lantern at the archer corps.
"Looking for General D'Erle," the lead Ranger said.
"Here," Malcolm gasped as the group was brought to a reasonably quiet halt. He could hear the archers falling out by the wayside but that could wait.
"Lieutenant Aihara, Fifth Rangers," the Ranger said, his voice pitched to carry but soft. Not a whisper, that could be heard at a greater distance. "We've been scouting the New Destiny force for the last two days. We have your approach lines marked out and had wagons brought down with food from Tarson. No fires, obviously, but the food is bread loaves and meat. Casks of water and some wine if you wish to issue it. Chow line's set up."
"Lieutenant," the general chuckled, "you are a sight for god-damned sore eyes."
"Sir," another figure said, coming out of the gloom. "I'm Ensign Destrang, General Talbot's aide."
"Yes, Ensign?" the general said, raising an eye at a dress uniform covered in greenery.
"I need a quiet word with you, sir," the ensign replied, softly. "Soon. I have a dispatch from General Talbot and supplementary orders."
"Let me get this clusterfisk under control," D'Erle said, frowning and looking over his shoulder at the collapsed archers. "Then we'll talk."
Chapter Thirty-three
"I can put this on myself, you know," Herzer said, extending his arms backwards.
"Us to do," Bast replied. "Hold open, Megan."
The ancient Romans had put an enormous amount of thought and practical research into making field armor that a soldier could wear day in and day out and Edmund Talbot had seen few reasons to ignore them. The loricated legionnaire armor was made of overlapping steel plates, lorica, that were effectively thin steel bands held together by small fittings on the inside. They were bent to go around a human body and open on the front. There they were tied with leather bindings. They had to be bent back to be put on, but other than that the armor could be donned like a coat and was, for armor, remarkably comfortable and cool.
Herzer had already donned the cosilk undershirt, with wide half sleeves to prevent chafing from the edge of the lorica, the steel-faced leather kilt and the thick cosilk scarf that wrapped around his neck and folded across his chest. The latter was to prevent the armor from digging into the neck and also acted as a slight protective collar against rebounds.
Herzer tied the front of the armor as Bast and Megan put on his shin, knee and thigh guards. Then he held his arms out, smiling faintly, so they could attach the bracers. On his right, his only, hand he slipped on a leather glove backed with steel inserts on the outside. Last, Megan placed his helmet on his head. The original Blood Lord helmet had been a barbute, a solid helmet of steel with a thin "T" on the front for breathing and sight. Recently, the legions had gone to the original Roman design. It was far more comfortable and gave much greater vision in battle. Of course, the face was essentially unprotected, but nothing was perfect.
He looked at the two of them standing side by side, the childlike beauty of the ancient elf with her long, curly, blue-black hair and cat-pupiled green eyes standing next to the much more subtle beauty of the councilwoman and shook his head.
"Do I get to keep both of you?" he asked, holding out his arms.
"Friends are," Bast said, accepting and joining in the group hug. "Friends will stay. All and always."
"I won't kick her out of bed, mind you," Megan said, trying to smile.
"Will help with armor?" Bast asked Megan.
"What armor?" Herzer said, frowning.
"Going with," Bast replied, slipping out of her bikini top and bottom. "Hard fight have. Back will cover. Ride Joanna. Won't mind."
"It is going to be a hard fight," Herzer said, frowning harder. "A bloody shambles fight. You're as good as anyone in the world, better than me, but you're going to need armor and I don't know any in this ship." He stopped as the elf produced a square of fabric the size of a handkerchief from her apparently bottomless pouch. She started unfolding it. And unfolding it. When it was fully unfolded the deck of the compartment could be seen through a long, grayish bodysuit.
"Hard to put on," Bast said, sitting down on the deck and shoving one leg in. "Megan to help?"
"What is that?" Herzer asked. He always tended to get a bit. horny before a fight. Just one of his many demons. And the sight of the elf writhing on the floor putting on that. cat-suit combat-nightie, was a bit more than he was prepared to handle.
"Carbon nanotube," Bast grunted, shoving an arm into a sleeve that ended in an integral glove. "Not very stretchy. Think have gained weight."
"Carbon. what?" Herzer asked as Bast got up and stretched, hard, finally getting all her digits into place.
"Carbon nanotube," Bast said, posing with her arms in the air. She looked from one blank face to the other and then pouted. "Diamond? Girl's best friend?"
"You mean that's a suit of carbon nanotube?" Megan said, aghast.
"Yeah," Bast said, simply, pirouetting in place so the zipper at the back was presented to Megan. "Zip me?"
"That's the stuff that they used to put in tourney armor to make sure nothing could get through it, right?" Herzer said.
"And in wyvern wings." Megan nodded, zipping up the back. "That's why they're impenetrable."
John Ringo - Council Wars 03 - Against the Tide Page 41
