The Ice War

by Anders Blixt

  “I’m listening,” said Paul.

  “I can open a big hole in the roof of the fuselage and detach the bomb from its rack. We attach a long chain to the bomb and the ship’s crane. The Nereid tows the plane to deeper water and we hoist the bomb to the deck. I need two assistants,” said Linda.

  “How confident are you that this scheme will work?” asked Paul.

  “I am an experienced mechanic. I secured the bomb in that cargo bay. It did not break lose at the crash. Bloody hell, I know what to do.” Exhaustion cracked Linda’s temper.

  Paul looked at me.

  “Trust her,” I said. “She has never disappointed me.”

  “Well, Miss Connor, are you up to doing all that after the meal? I’d love to get out of here quickly.”

  Linda nodded. “I’m tired, but not too tired.”

  “Johnny, you look wasted,” said Paul.

  “Yeah, Maxidin has kept me going for too many hours. I’m getting addicted,” I said.

  “That drug is a treacherous ally. I quit using it years ago,” said Paul. “Anyhow, the steward is busy preparing a cabin for you. Two bunks in a shoebox.”

  “That’ll do fine,” I said.

  Linda nodded in agreement.

  Chapter 15

  I woke in the lower bunk still wearing all my clothes. Four heartbeats followed before I understood where I was. The rhythmic pulse from the Nereid’s engine indicated that we were on the way somewhere, so the salvage operations must have been completed. A short swell rocked the ship gently. I checked my watch: early evening, darkness outside the porthole and time for a meal. A Maxidin hangover wracked my body, but I forced myself to ignore it.

  My nose guided me through the Nereid’s innards to the mess, where Linda and three sailors were sharing a meal. They were the pair that had picked us up at the aeroplane wreck and a weather-beaten thin man in his thirties. I was still unable to remember where I had seen that familiar face before. The quartet mixed English and Russian. The tone of the conversation and the Linda’s body language showed that the men saw her as their equal. She must have done well during the salvage operation.

  I fetched a bowl of fish and potatoes from the cook and joined the quartet.

  “Hello, I’m Yitzchak Asimoff.” The familiar sailor spoke with a Russian accent. He took a close look at me through thick lenses that made his eyes look small. I guessed he was a few years younger than me.

  “Johnny Bornewald.” I said.

  “Robert Kagan,” said the other rower. His native language must be Russian, too.

  “Tom Dinn,” said the third man, an Englishman judging from his dialect. He wore a green overall and was weather-beaten in that pale manner that I had seen among so many people living in Acheron where the sunlight was weak.

  The food was filling and I was too hungry to care much about its lack of flavour. My headache diminished as soon as the belly got filled.

  Yitzchak looked at me again and said: “S/S Pearl, Blekinge to Friesland. You were an ordinary seaman.”

  “Yes, I remember that voyage.” Now the pieces fell into place. “My elder brother was responsible for that operation.” Everything had worked out fine: no coast guard cutters, no torpedo boats, and no navy seaplanes.

  “We were more than a hundred refugees. Why would you remember a frightened boy when you had the hands full with saving us?” said Yitzchak.

  “That was a tough night, wasn’t it? Quite hard wind,” I said.

  “I puked till I thought I would die. Anyhow, thank you. We got a new start – new lives,” he said.

  “I am happy to hear that.” A cliché, yes, but I meant it.

  “These chaps and I have salvaged the barrel,” said Linda.

  “The plane has disappeared in deep water,” added Robert.

  “Good. Bloody good,” I said. What will we do now with that monster bomb? I was still too weary to come up with any good ideas. “Any news from the war?”

  “The clashes on the southern ice plain continue, according to the radio broadcasts. The Russians have suffered setbacks,” said Robert. “The Japan-Juliusburg alliance is making progress. The Danes worry about an attack on Christianshus, because if the Japanese want to crush the Russian strongpoints in Acheron, their best route passes through Danish territory. And in the northern hemisphere the Japanese have defeated the Russian Pacific Fleet near Port Arthur.”

  “Two appalling allies for the rebellion,” said Yitzchak.

  “You fellows are as republican as I am, aren’t you?” I said.

  “Certainly,” said Robert.

  “Why do you man a New Englander ship? The Boston Puritans dislike Jews, don’t they?” The Nereid’s flag had been a riddle to me ever since I sighted here in the Rasmussen Fiord.

  “The captain fixed it and he might want to tell you his version of the tale. By the way, Tom is the only able seaman around the table,” said Robert.

  “These chaps are my snobbish apprentices,” said Tom in a jovial manner. “I do my best to keep them from drowning.”

  “We’ve survived so far,” said Yitzchak. “Robert and I are scholars from Leiden University. I’m a graduate student in biochemistry and Robert in zoology. Our professors want us to do some research here in Alba.”

  “Are you willing to explain that?” I asked.

  “Well, we’re in the same boat in several ways and it is not classified information. Have you heard of ‘macrobiological warfare’?” said Robert.

  “No,” I said.

  “The use of the existing local flora and fauna for military purposes. We suspect that one or more parties are experimenting with that is Alba,” said Robert.

  “I’ve seen that. Have you heard of a zoologist called Peter Lee?” I said.

  Robert and Yitzchak nodded, while Tom shook his head.

  I continued: “Linda and I used the crashed Blériot to escape from his clutches. He demonstrated how to use leviathans as living tanks.”

  Robert exclaimed something in Russian, got a strained look on his face and glanced at Linda. But she ignored his words.

  “Doctor Lee is a biochemist from Cambridge University. A skilled scientist and a devoted republican. He got into some snarl with the English secret police in 1938 and vanished out of sight,” said Yitzchak.

  “He used pheromones to control a herd of leviathans.” I summarized the battle for Post 14 in a few sentences.

  “Great,” said Yitzchak. “That’s solid proof. So far we’ve only found circumstantial evidence. Can you give us a more detailed description?”

  “Tomorrow,” said Linda. “I must hit the sack.”

  I had emptied my bowl and felt less miserable, but I was still exhausted. “I agree. Tomorrow, gentlemen.”

  Chapter 16

  “Did you sleep well?” said Paul von Rosen in Swedish while pouring me a cup of weak coffee.

  Paul had summoned me for a breakfast in his cabin, while Linda ate with Robert and Yitzchak in the mess. Porridge bowls, sandwiches and cups crowded his desk next to nautical charts and maritime handbooks. A radio set, a big piece of elegant carpentry bolted to a bulkhead, provided operetta music from Radio Austria Intercontinental.

  I looked out through the stern portholes at the sea and the sky, the elements of my heart. The light of the rising sun glittered in the short waves. “The first peaceful night since Fredriksborg.” It was a pleasure to speak my native tongue again. I emptied my cup before continuing: “Your ship, she surprised me. I’m not up to date about the Institute’s activities, but I never imagined that she would have a ship down here.”

  “It’s a sordid story,” said Paul. “Officially this is an oceanology research vessel financed by the New England colony. In reality, the Institute runs the show. The New England consul on Neue Trieste had gotten into a mess. Puritans abroad often go astray among worldly temptations. He took the wrong kind of person to his bed and got blackmailed. If the authorities in Boston had heard the slightest whiff, the consul would be behind bars fo
r ‘crimes against nature’. Someone told me and I proposed a solution. The consul accepted it and has become a trusted partner, at least as long as I am around to keep him on his toes.”

  “A solution?” I asked.

  “Well, Neue Trieste is a rough place. I hired a few heavies and they had a talk with the blackmailers. The consul sweetened the proposal with some gold and suddenly everyone agreed that nothing untoward had happened.”

  “The war wrecks our souls,” I said. Before the rebellion, I could not have imagined that Paul or I would tarnish our aristocratic honour with blackmail and murder; nor would the Institute have condoned such actions. When had the rules changed? By whom? By us?

  “Yes, that’s what war does to you,” said Paul. “Time is always short, so I do what is necessary to go on without delays. The future is at stake. So our scruples wither away day by day.”

  “Point taken. When Linda and I planned our escape in the Blériot, we intended to murder three men in cold blood. They were only saved by their own misjudgements,” I said.

  “Enough philosophizing,” said Paul. “Tell me what you’ve done here in Alba.”

  I spent ten minutes explaining what had happened between the Cassiopeia’s arrival in Fredriksborg and our landing at the Rasmussen Fiord.

  “Great job. Miss Connor is amazing. You’d be dead without her,” said Paul.

  “I know.” I contemplated the present for a few seconds before saying. “What’s the next step? What’s your task here?”

  Paul responded with a question: “Do you think Lee will survive?”

  “That would require hospital care, but I don’t know whether his allies are willing or able to provide that. Without it, he’ll die within a few days,” I said.

  Paul nodded. “What are your plans for the barrel?”

  “I want to take it to the institute. The Z boffins need to take a look at it,” I said.

  “We can go to any port along the Sea of Tears and you can take the barrel overland from there to Fredriksborg. And then Leclerc will have to fly it to Magalhana. And then on to Europe.”

  He can’t be serious, I thought. “Do you think that’s all there is to it?”

  “If you’re lucky, yes. But in practice, no. What will Leclerc say?” Paul said.

  “He won’t object and I possess override authority if need be,” I said. “But it’ll be complicated to get it to Fredriksborg. Police and customs will be nervous now when the war is about to move into Acheron.”

  “Yes… I remember Manila. And now… Japanese marching into Acheron’s villages.” Paul fell silent. Both of us knew the implications.

  I changed subject: “What about Adèle?”

  Paul’s shoulders slumped for a moment. “Last year she went to Karquim as a part of her graduate studies. But I’ve no idea what has happened to her when the Imperials attacked the city. She might be dead.”

  Paul’s younger sister had been a temperamental and joyful adolescent at our last meeting. “I’m sorry. If I had known, I would have gotten in touch with her when we were there. We fled when we saw the Imperial planes coming in for the kill and we barely survived their bombing of the cloudport.” I returned to my original question: “What are you doing here?”

  “Thoughtless people have introduced European fish species in the Sea of Tears to increase catches. We’re looking into the consequences. You know, such methods can be used for war. Disrupting farming with weeds or parasites,” he said.

  “It seems that Peter Lee was looking into that,” I said.

  “If he has a crop killer, he’ll cause a famine across Acheron,” said Paul.

  “Well, volcanic ash is also a crop killer, isn’t it?” I said. “And since he wanted to ignite Hephaestus Mons, he has no biological tricks up his sleeve.”

  “A plausible conclusion,” said Paul. “Anyhow, I’ve decided that we’ll head for Port Francis, an English settlement. You’ll have to figure out how to proceed to Fredriksborg from there.”

  A sombre voice from the radio cut off our conversation: “We interrupt the music programme for an emergency news bulletin. Major general Lombardi, commander of Wehrkommando Alba in Neue Trieste, has announced that the battles on the southern ice sheet have ended. Last evening, colonel Nikefor Yefremovich Sokolov, commander of the 17th Caucasus Rifles, surrendered to major general Toshiro Miura, commander of the Japanese expeditionary corps in Alba. About one thousand Russian soldiers laid down their arms after two days fighting. The Habsburg Empire and the kingdom of Denmark-Norway remain neutral in this conflict and their governors have initiated talks on how to best protect their subjects’ well-being in case the fighting reaches Acheron. Wehrkommando Alba has been ordered on full alert. All military personnel on leave shall at once report to their units. Long live Emperor Otto!” The voice fell silent and a military band started playing the Habsburg imperial hymn.

  “The hurricane is about to strike.” The words left a bitter taste in my mouth. I hated the notion of going into battle once again.

  Paul’s voice was equally strained: “Linda and you must hurry if you are to reach Fredriksborg before the Japanese invade.”

  Port Francis felt in part like a small newly-erected version of Fredriksborg and in part like a rural fishing village, where a breeze that carried a salty scent of seawater tugged at your clothes. The black log houses were lower, coarser and built without the Danes’ strict symmetry. England’s white flag with the red George cross fluttered over the customs house at the quay, but nobody came out to inspect the Nereid. On the other hand, research vessels rarely carry trading goods subject to custom duties.

  From the bow Linda and I watched the Nereid’s crew loading supplies and coal. On the quay behind us longshoremen unloaded black crates with fresh catches from fishing boats and whaleboats run by the men who hunt Alba’s dugongs. Traders and skippers dickered at the warehouse gates.

  “I have thought a lot about what we’ve seen and I want to tell you what I think. I would like to hear whether my conclusions match yours,” I said to Linda. I had come to trust her common sense regardless of her lack of grounding in science.

  “Mmm,” she said.

  “As for Peter Lee’s leviathan tricks – pheromones are not easy to synthesize. He needs labs, assistants, raw material. Those things cost a lot. His employer must be wealthy,” I said.

  “I agree,” said Linda.

  “So we’re talking about large-scale zoological research. Who would carry out that in Alba?” I said.

  “Ask Yitzchak and Robert. They must know,” she said.

  “I’ll do that,” I said.

  “What will you do when they tell you?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” I said.

  Linda looked at me.

  “You and I can’t deal with every problem coming our way. Our job is to take that barrel to Fredriksborg. Captain Thorn’s crew will have to deal with the biological warfare.”

  I wanted to charter a teamster who could take Linda, me and the barrel overland to Fredriksborg. Theoretically, the Nereid could have taken us to Neue Trieste, where there was a railway connection to Fredriksborg, but that city was well-organized by local standards and since the Emperor’s army was mobilizing I did not look forward having to explain my doings to railway officials or customs officers. Port Francis ought to have people who would do the job with few questions asked.

  Our tour of the town revealed that cargo transport was either by huge diesel-powered halftracks, who carried out long-distance assignments, or by bremmut, a big and sluggish herbivore that resembled a six-legged rhinoceros with a bull’s head. That pack animal could take big loads over short distances at the speed of a walking man, whereas a halftrack could make ten knot on a decent gravel track.

  Linda and I joined Paul, Robert and Yitzchak for lunch in the mess – time for an improvised war council.

  “Linda has chartered a teamster,” I said. “We’re leaving in the afternoon for a halftrack journey to Fredriksborg.”

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p; “That’s a long trip through the wilderness. I hope there aren’t any other passengers,” said Paul.

  “Only the teamster Victor Szenes and his son and apprentice Jacob. I’ve done business with Mr Szenes before. I told that we are taking scientific samples to Fredriksborg and he accepted my story. He already knew that Johnny and I were aboard the Nereid,” said Linda.

  “You need more money now, don’t you?” said Paul.

  “Yes, I’d appreciate five thousand,” I said. When we agreed on the charter, Szenes had asked for more money than what I had at hand, but we had agreed on a down payment in the garage, a first instalment on the quay and a second one in Fredriksborg.

  “I’ll fix that. When are they picking up the cargo?” Paul said.

  “At two o’clock,” I said.

  “Good – you chaps will take care of that.” Paul nodded at Robert and Yitzchak and changed subject. “Mr Bornewald, you said a while ago you had something else on you mind for the three of us.”

  I outlined Linda’s and my thoughts about a conspiracy inside a research programme.

  “Interesting, though hard to carry out. We have to check whether any of Peter Lee’s old colleagues are in Alba. People that he would trust,” Robert said.

  Paul interrupted: “We’ll set off for Neue Trieste tomorrow to check that.”

  Paul waited at the gangway when I was about to step off the Nereid for the last time. A stubborn wind from the Sea of Tears made him squint. “Johnny, I know you don’t want to be armed.” He carried a leather gun case in the right hand and a cardboard carton in the left. “But it is war now and you have a woman to protect. This is my Beretta Falcone and fifty cartridges buckshot.”

  “How would it help?” My backpack and the sailor’s sack with fresh clothes that the Nereid’s steward had handed over a moment ago were more than sufficient burdens.

  “Remember Manila.”

  I understood his concern. “All right, for her sake.”

  “Bon voyage,” he mumbled. “See you in Greifswald.”