by Alma Boykin
The large group broke into smaller sessions with rotating membership, forcing everyone to be in the same room with everyone else at some point. By seven that evening Joschka wished he could have a large beer, or perhaps something stronger, and considered sneaking into town to go to a bar as he had done many, many decades ago in his enlisted years. He sank into bed that night, his head pounding from the effort of interpreting, placating, paraphrasing, and trying to pour oil on the waters. How were they going to even agree to share information, beyond what had come out that morning and afternoon?
A supply problem the next morning led to a diplomatic breakthrough. Well, Joschka found no problem, since he preferred coffee to tea and the Swiss provided excellent coffee. The tea, however, failed to meet expectations, judging by the sour looks among some of the early risers. Col. Pavel Turguz, Admiral Sarkozii’s shadow, gave his cup a suspicious look and took a sip. “That’s weaker than water,” he complained.
“I wonder if a tea leaf ever touched the water, or if someone just waved a teabag over the pot,” Col. Jonathon Eastman speculated tartly, drawing a slight nod of agreement from his Soviet counterpart, who supposedly did not speak English. Although, Joschka noted, the object of Eastman’s comment was obvious enough that his words did not really need translation. Joschka glanced over. The tea appeared rather paler than he was used to seeing.
“Try this,” a third party suggested and a plastic bag full of teabags slid down the smooth tabletop. “Col. Peters has more if we need them.” The thick accent placed the speaker as a native of the southern United States and a very surprised Joschka glanced up to see Forrest Calhoun sliding a chair back and landing firmly on it. He continued in fractured Russian, “It’s from that French-Russian company, Kusmi-whatever.” The other tea drinkers seemed to recognize the name, even battered by Calhoun’s mangled syntax, and after a brief polite scramble helped themselves to the bag and returned it to the general, who accepted a cup of hot water and made his own brew. That started a conversation about tea versus coffee, bad brews from around the world and other related topics. Joschka interpreted a little when necessary, a word here or clarification there, but generally just listened.
Over breakfast Britain, the US, and Soviet Union united against a common foe—army cooks—as the men griped about military food and drink. Each nation apparently had a specialty of particularly dreaded food, including “creamed beef—Gad that’s horrible stuff,” Calhoun shook his head.
“Sunday morning borsht is worse, General. Especially if the cook had leave Saturday night,” Turguz corrected the American.
Eastman swallowed his toast before opining, “Anything with beets is bad. But obviously no one else here has suffered through a curry made the weekend before an inspection,” he stated in dire tones.
“Mystery meat, Colonel Eastman?” Calhoun smiled a little.
“Mystery meat and the vegetables of doom.”
Turguz knew a little English and looked puzzled. “What are ‘vegetables of doom’?”
Joschka snorted. “Usually they are flaccid, furry, or fermented. My wife tries a little too hard to economize some times,” he explained, fingers crossed under the table. What Magda didn’t know . . . That led to a brief discussion of bad cooking in general before everyone dispersed to their official duties. But to Joschka’s delight, the walls began coming down as the officers began talking soldier-to-soldier instead of policy-to-policy. The distrust and occasional snide remarks continued, but the men started pooling ideas and thoughts.
The next afternoon General Weizenfeld and Gen. Sima Aiguo broached the ultimate possibility, taking the Indians’ and Australians’ ideas one step farther. “This would be much easier if we had one military group that focused on keeping intruders out,” the Austrian general remarked during a session on alien technology.
“Yes, it would,” Sima agreed. Joschka made a small note but did not think too much about the exchange. But the seed had been planted, as he learned on the third and last morning of the gathering.
“If, and I realize that it is, of course, impossible,” General Slim began, “If someone were to propose a single unified defense of the planet, what would the arguments against it be?”
Weizenfeld offered, “No one will work together that closely.”
“Why not?” Slim pushed as Eastman and others took notes.
“Our militaries are too different: the Americans’ toleration of independent lower ranks will never work with the Soviets or South Asians or Chileans,” Weizenfeld replied.
General Jan Troomp nodded, “And the civilian politicians won’t like it. Who would be in charge? We Europeans and the Americans and Canadians will insist on civilian control, as will the Soviets but for very different reasons.”
“And some people will not share information: they will take but not give,” Joschka added. “And they will not trust what they receive because of the source.”
“What is to keep one country from trying to use the invaders as a tool against their enemies?” Gen. Talwar asked.
Eastman, Slim’s aid, chimed in, “Someone will insist that there should be a diplomatic solution before any sort of military response. After all, they ‘may come in peace to aid and serve all mankind’,” he snorted, quoting a wildly popular and very silly girl-meets-alien-falls-in-true-love movie from the previous year.
Troomp nodded his agreement, “And as a result the diplomats will want more money and power over the military.”
“And we all know how well that works,” someone else muttered under his breath.
A rather mean little smile appeared on Slim’s craggy face. “It would be much easier if it were possible to scare sense into people.”
“If you find a way, sir, please let me know your technique so I can try it on my children,” Joschka asked half-seriously.
Ikshan Talwar’s eyes narrowed and he carefully turned the end of his long, curled mustache. “Perhaps that is an idea, if one were to try and form a single defending force, or even a group of cooperating forces,” the Rajput thought aloud. “Politicians and civilians dislike two things above all others: uncertainty and the loss of control. If one were to present undeniable proof of extraterrestrial hostiles and at the same time to suggest that some militaries were already coordinating their efforts without appropriate civilian oversight, it might stir the government to action.”
“Yes, they’d lock us all up as dangerous nutters,” dark-haired Eastman whispered to Joschka.
“But not their own military, of course, sir,” Joschka added, covering Eastman’s comment.
Talwar gave him a very serious look. “Of course not. The Indian Army and other branches would never act without consulting with and gaining approval from the Prime Minister and Parliament.”
“Quite right,” Slim added for public benefit as Eastman wrote furiously.
As the “purely hypothetical” discussion continued Joschka grew more and more uncomfortable. He had few qualms about shooting first and inquiring later as to intentions. Based on his previous experiences, no one arrived on a planet without establishing communications unless they were either invading or having major technical difficulties and needed to land immediately. But the idea of doing something behind the backs of the civilian governments disturbed him. It opened too many doors and there were so many bad precedents, even on Earth alone, that he cared not one bit for the thought.
What was needed, he mused even as he listened to the others, was to start by carefully approaching those politicians friendly or neutral to the military, who had enough imagination not to dismiss the evidence without at least looking at it first, and who could envision how civilian control over such a force might be constructed. Joschka knew of three or four in Austria who might fit that description and a few others elsewhere. And then expand the effort. He doubted it would happen in his lifetime. Although . . . it was interesting how quickly dire enemies had become willing to at least consider cooperation. He snorted to himself, recalling that, that c
ooperation is only because each local power wants to dominate the world, not to be dominated by outsiders as interested in eating or exterminating humans as they might be in ruling over them.
Lieutenant Colonel Tom Peters caught Joschka in the hallway as they were leaving their separate briefings. “Do you have a second, sir?”
Joschka nodded, a bit wary after their last professional encounter. “Yes, Colonel, What can I do for you?”
“I was wondering if you ever heard any follow up from that consultant, Miss, ah, Na Gael, on the Tyrolean incident?”
The Austrian sifted through his memory to see how much he could tell the cotton-blond American. “Yes, I did. She found the instigator and the proper authorities dealt with the matter.” Peters really didn’t need to know that “Miss Na Gael” had terminated both the invader and his corporate interests. She and her business partner had done very tidy work, judging by what Joschka read between the lines of the official report she’d sent him later.
“Oh, good!” The man’s honest relief made Joschka feel a little better about Peters. “Do you think she’d be interested in working with my government in the future?”
Not unless both Frederick Barbarossa and Charlemagne rise from the dead and beg her to on their knees, Joschka growled. Aloud he said, “I’m not certain. She is uncomfortable in North America, for some reason. A personal, private reason that I’ve not asked her about,” he added, emphasizing the personal part.
“Ah,” Peters nodded. He excused himself after glancing at his watch and cursing under his breath.
The meeting concluded that afternoon and General Karl Weizenfeld and his aid returned to Graz, discussing how to present what they had to which politicians. Given that Parliament was busy wrapping up matters before the July and August recess, General Weizenfeld opted not to take any action aside from informing his direct superiors of the general content and tone of the meeting.
Two weeks after their return, the Bohemian called his aid to his office and handed him a letter. “You have two weeks leave, starting tomorrow, to consider this. And to make up for my cancelling your earlier time away.”
Only much later did Joschka learn what had precipitated the decisions leading to the material included in the letter. At that moment, all he could do was blink and re-read the missive. “Ah, very good, sir. Thank you, sir.” He returned the document to his superior and went to phone Magda to let her know that he would be coming home.
The HalfDragon moved in a mental fog as he drove to the Drachental. Could he . . . should he . . . was it even safe for him to consider the ideas proposed in the letter? One thing was certain: this once he would break security and tell Magda about the proposal. He saw no other option.
The children were away visiting cousins or staying with school friends during the summer holiday for most of the first week, giving their parents a little time alone. The first day home Joschka attended to House matters and family business, but the second evening he took Magda’s hand. “My lady, there is something we need to discuss.” The couple went to the library and he locked the door as she took her seat. Instead of sitting, Joschka stood in front of the cold fireplace, searching for words as Magda picked up her most recent embroidery project, a new altar cloth for the family chapel.
“A new military group is being formed,” he began, cutting directly to the heart of the matter. “One to defend Earth from further invasions. Austria will participate and I have been asked to accept a transfer into the group as part of the administrative staff, with the understanding that should the need arise, I might be involved in combat.”
“What did you decide?” She asked, knotting off a thread and selecting another from the rainbow of skeins in her basket.
“I have not made a decision. I was given my leave time to consider it. Before anything, I needed to tell you and then I must learn the wishes of the House.” He paced a little to relieve his tension, thinking aloud that, “There are so many possible problems.” He let his voice trail away before starting again, “I can’t endanger you and our children. That is my greatest fear,” Joschka confessed. “All else aside, that’s what worries me the most right now, given what I know about the group thus far.”
Magda remained silent for several minutes. At last she spoke. “I . . . do not like the idea of your leaving Austria or becoming involved in politics. Politics killed my father,” she reminded him, her expression grim, and Joschka nodded his understanding. Graf George Johann von Hohen-Drachenburg’s participation in the anti-Nazi resistance through the Conservative Party in Austria led to his imprisonment by the SS. He’d been released, health broken and spirit crippled, in time to learn of his only son’s death on the Eastern Front. George Johann died not long after, leaving Magda and her mother to try and keep the House intact and to protect the valley when the Soviets overran much of Austria in the last days of the war. But the Graf’s actions had also allowed the family to retain its holdings after the War and had inadvertently opened the door for Joschka to win Magda’s heart.
“International diplomacy, my heart, not domestic politics,” he assured her. “And I do not want to leave Austria either.” He hoped that the greater House and the Power would forbid his participation and suspected that they would, although he did not say this to his wife.
“But I will support whatever you decide to do, my lord,” the redhead informed her surprised spouse. “And I will do what is needed to provide you with a better background, should it become necessary.”
“Thank you, Magda. Thank you for everything that you have given me, my beautiful mountain lady,” he told her, going onto one knee, taking her hand, and kissing it.
Joschka waited until after the children came home before consulting the House and the Power. To his disappointment, neither objected if he decided to choose to join the new unit. It was very difficult for him to be certain, but the Power of the Drachenburg seemed to suggest that because of being an alien as well as HalfDragon, Joschka would be able to fulfill all of his duties even if he had to leave the region for extended periods. But there might also be a penalty of some sort, one that the Power refused to specify. And so the decision remained for Joschka alone.
Three nights remained to his leave when he sought the peace and calm of the chapel. He bowed to the Presence and knelt at the small altar dedicated to St. Michael, praying for his family and for guidance. Then he sat in one of the pews, looking at the shadows cast by the Presence light and the candle he’d lit before the image of Our Lady of Sorrows that graced the other side altar.
Joschka put his head in his hands. Lord God, I don’t want any part of this, he prayed. I left home to avoid getting pulled into politics; all I want is to retire and to enjoy my family in peace. But that was the rub, wasn’t it? Would his family be allowed peace if he didn’t get involved? For a long moment he felt sorely tempted to call Commander Ni Drako and ask her what would come next. He didn’t remember any successful invasions of Earth, but was that because he’d missed that particular lecture, because none had been launched, or because they had all been beaten off? And if the latter, was it because someone like him had become involved, helping the humans? Joschka had done his best to forget his origins and past, but in the end he was an extraterrestrial, he did know about the technologies and species that were out there, and had fought some of them before. He knew, at least in theory, the requirements for planetary defense and that knowledge could well tip the balance in the humans’ favor.
And then came honor. Could he on his honor not do everything possible to keep Magda and their family safe? Not if he took his marriage vows seriously. But would putting himself in a position of danger increase their risks? After all, it was one thing to discreetly alter his Army records to hide his age and to confuse the physicians so they missed the telltale signs that he wasn’t completely human. It would be quite another thing to be an extraterrestrial in an organization dedicated to stopping unfriendly extraterrestrials! But none of our children are HalfDragons and I will g
ladly die to protect Magda if I’m discovered. And all of that will be moot if something gets a foothold on this planet. The HalfDragon closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind, waiting for a word from the Lord, a sign. But none came.
At last Joschka left the quiet chapel. He walked down the silent hall and up the stairs to where his children slept. He looked in on them. Johann and Peter, Elizabet and Maria slept safe and at peace. Their father leaned against the frame of the door to the girls’ room, looking first at one child and then another. His family had already been targeted once because of their connections and relations, human or not. The same might prove true in the future: look at the pain the so-called Red Dawn’s Army terrorists caused and they only hunted politicians and businessmen! Again and again his heart whispered, you’ve already chosen.
Magda coughed quietly, catching his attention, and he left his vigil. “Come to bed, love,” she ordered in her gentle way. Joschka for once hesitated, then acquiesced, and soon lay by her side. “Whatever you choose, I’ll support and protect you,” she reminded him.
“I know, and I love you and thank you very much for that and for everything else,” he whispered. “But it’s so hard. If I do agree to help, I fear that it won’t be a ‘thirty-five and retire’ commitment any longer, beloved. I’ll be away from you and the children even more and the risks will be greater for me and for you.”
She nodded her understanding and frowned a little. “How is it different from 1956? We were so certain that the Soviets were going to roll through Hungary and not stop until they reached the Alps and you would have been in the front lines.” Magda, one of the university students who’d flocked to the border to help the refugees, would also have been caught had the Red Army pushed through again. She continued, “What about the Czechs in 1966 and your status then? How is this different?”
