by Alma Boykin
Joschka started, then stopped. She was correct, but he pointed out that, “This time the attackers have most of the advantages, and we don’t even know what they might be, or even if invaders have already put their forces in place here, hidden and waiting.”
“But we know our land and our people, love. And you’ve said time and again, we humans are trickier, more energetic, and less predictable than many species. Doesn’t that give us an advantage of some kind?” Magda had an excellent point and Joschka turned matters over one last time, then decided.
He took his wife in his arms, inhaling the sweet, vaguely floral perfume of her deceptively soft self. “Yes, it does. And Truth, Lady Magda, I think I made my decision when Commander Ni Drako brought me here a century ago. This is my home now, whoever I was before and whatever species I am, and I have to keep you and our children safe. And if that means keeping the rest of this world safe too, so be it.” And he kissed her and wished with all his heart that it was not so.
In early October the generals and their aids returned to Switzerland, this time to a Swiss Army facility in Canton Uri. As far as Joschka and General Weizenfeld understood things, they were going to discuss a, well—military confederation was probably the best term to describe the loosely organized group. The meeting, as proposed, focused more on coordinating information exchanges and arranging cooperation across contiguous borders than forming any sort of new organization, which suited Joschka just fine and would make things easier for Austria and the other neutrals. But matters outside of Europe had progressed much faster than anticipated, as the two learned when they read through the briefing packages.
Instead of a loose information network, what the Indians, Chinese, Canadians, and Americans had developed was an independent force under its own command structure! Joschka studied the table of organization laid out on the page and wondered how on Earth it could work, assuming any government approved it. Some proposed branches were national, others regional. As suggested by the Americans and Canadians, the head of the organization would be a civilian with the title of secretary who would be appointed by world leaders, but could not be one of those leaders. The force would posses only a minimal administrative apparatus, with each branch semi-autonomous in regard to logistics. In contrast, intelligence, technological materials, and certain scientific aspects of the organization would be highly centralized, and their findings disseminated to all branches as soon as the information/equipment/et cetera had been analyzed.
That much of the proposal seemed incredibly difficult but not impossible. However, the models for the individual branches? Joschka shook his head, wondering how the Soviets, South Asians, and some others would cope with anything that encouraged flexibility and initiative like this seemed designed to. It was to be an all-volunteer force, drawing members from the militaries of the various nations. The lowest rank allowed would be lance corporal, or OR-4/ E-4, and the branch commanding officer must be a brigadier general or higher, in order to be able to deal with politicians, bureaucrats, and other military groups. The organization focused on infantry and assumed that each branch could draw on the air force, armor, and naval resources of its host country/region if needed. Certain positions remained for the individual branches to sort out and Joschka noted that the British seemed especially light on staff. Oh, and with the exception of the commanding officer and senior enlisted man from each branch, members could come from anywhere and would be rotated around to various branches during the course of their service with the new organization. That alone required a great deal of work and Joschka could not imagine the Soviets accepting American or British personnel into their bosom.
In short, the countries proposed a light, fast responding, highly skilled, and flexible new group composed of men and women from around the world and answering to everyone and no one. “Blessed St. Leopold, there is no way this can work,” Joschka mused aloud.
“Nijn, we can make it work,” Colonel Piet van der Weide corrected from the doorway. “We will make changes as needed, adapt ideas as they come to mind, and learn from others’ mistakes.” The Dutchman sounded perfectly confident and Joschka hoped that he was right.
The Austrian smiled, warning, “Be careful, you’re starting to sound like an American.”
Piet shuddered with mock horror, sobering abruptly as General Fazzioli stormed past the open door. Once the danger had cleared the Dutchman relaxed again and Joschka observed, “I’m curious to know where this organization is going to find men who can fight both on the battlefield and in the diplomatic salon.”
“Besides you?” Before Joschka could correct him, Piet continued, “At ease, Joschka, we’ll find a way.” He glanced at his watch and gestured towards the door. Joschka collected his papers and followed the smaller man to the conference room, then took his place just behind General Weizenfeld. The room felt more crowded than before and Joschka wondered again if it was due to the tension. Only the Soviets appeared calm and unconcerned, but then Admiral Sarkozii had studied with Ambassador “Iron Pants” Ustinov himself and could probably ride out a super typhoon in a rowboat without looking bothered.
The meeting came to order and with a nod Sarkozii got to his feet, General Maxwell Alexander joining him at the front of the room. The Soviet admiral took a deep breath and announced, “After consultation with the Peoples’ Deputies, the First Secretary has decided that the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics will contribute to the proposed force. He further suggests that it be called the ‘Global Defense Force,’ to separate it clearly from any alliance or union currently existing.”
“With that in mind, I propose this,” the tanned Australian said and at his cue an image appeared on the screen behind the two men. A shield superimposed on a globe formed the central element, with laurel branches curving around them. The shield divided diagonally, half black and half white, and covered a little more than half of the globe. There was no motto. Alexander explained, “The shield and globe are obvious. Laurel for victory, and black and white because those are not the colors of any nation or agency.”
Muttered discussion flowed through the room and a hand came up. “Admiral, General, you seem very certain that this proposed organization will be accepted by our various leaders,” someone with a South Asian accent observed.
Interpreters murmured and the two men at the front of the room conferred in Russian. “The Peoples’ government, the United States, Canada, Austria, Great Britain, India, the Federal Republic of Germany, the German Democratic Republic, Australia, Brazil, and the Republic of South Africa have all approved it, with positive motions from Sweden, Kenya, Algeria, and Egypt. The Israeli Knesset is debating the matter today,” Admiral Sarkozii announced. That caused a stir and the Russian allowed himself a brief suggestion of what might have been a hint of a smile before his face returned to its usual stony impassivity.
Another hand came up, this from the Italians. “In that case, since final approval seems probable, what about adding a motto to the insignia? Perhaps ‘inexstinctus’?”
More murmurs, and the few Latin readers/speakers gave the meaning to their colleagues. General Alexander flashed very white teeth in a grin. “I like that. ‘It is never extinguished.’ Gets to the point and since almost no one speaks Latin anymore, no one should be offended that it’s not in their language.” Admiral Sarkozii nodded his agreement and so it was.
Two months later, Joschka wondered what he had gotten himself into. He heard Karl Weizenfeld looking around in his office up the hallway, triple checking drawers and cabinets to see if there was anything his chief-of-staff and secretary had forgotten. Joschka contemplated the same thing as he skimmed over the list of appointments and meetings General Weizenfeld would be going to over the next few weeks and months.
The politicians had decided that the first military head of the Global Defense Force should come from a neutral country. After some discussion, a small majority of the military members nominated Weisenfeld. He would remain on the Austrian Army payroll, but n
ow wore the patch of the G.D.F. under the Austrian flag.
Joschka, still Weisenfeld’s chief-of-staff, now labored to finish preparing for the transfer to a new location: the G.D.F.’s world headquarters would be in the outskirts of Vienna. As someone had joked only slightly, “Switzerland charges too much rent, Sweden lacks shopping, India’s too hot, there’s no room in Indonesia, and the Soviets and Americans both remember how to get around in Vienna.”
Three decades later, a graying General Joschka Graf von Hohen-Drachenburg, military commander of the Global Defense Force, watched soldiers, civilian advisors, and a few politicians from around the world mingle and discuss the previous year’s events. He felt a mental nudge and turned to see the woman the humans called Commander Rachel Na Gael easing up beside him, a faint smile on her face. “Your children are looking well,” she observed quietly, nodding towards the assembly.
He shook his head. “Not mine, Commander Na Gael. I just do my duty—they do the hard work and make the sacrifices.” As did she, now the senior field xenology specialist in the Defense Force. After a moment’s pause, he sent, <
Joschka felt his old friend’s silent denial. <
Chapter Two: Help Wanted
Vienna, Austria; Earth, AD 1983, May.
Brigadier General Joschka Graf von Hohen-Drachenburg sympathized with Brigadier Jonathon “Johnny” Eastman’s problem and plaint but could offer no solutions. Xenologists, unlike extraterrestrials, did not descend from the heavens or appear as if from thin air.
Joschka took a puff on his semi-illicit pipe and considered the problem. After a near disaster and the subsequent sheepish confession by the head of the North American Branch that he had hired a scientist to consult once or twice, the Global Defense Force leadership decided that the GDF’s organizational system lacked one “minor” position: a dedicated full-time specialist in extraterrestrial things. It was too much to ask military personnel to also be expert physicists, chemists, biologists, computer experts, and whatever else they needed.
The Soviets and Chinese solved the problem by pulling some of their better general science students out of the universities and announcing that, “You are now xenologists,” but most other Branches did not have that ability. And the pool of competent generalists who had the imagination, fortitude, and willingness to work with the GDF had proven to be, alas, rather small. As one professor had tartly informed the American Colonel Todd Carter, “At least in academia, ‘publish or perish’ is metaphorical.” All of which contributed to Brigadier General Eastman’s headache, which was becoming Joschka’s mess.
The 58th Regiment of Foot, also known as the British Branch of the GDF, had been formed without a xenology position and quickly discovered that they needed one rather badly. Eastman had used a few old school ties and found a very good scientist who was not allergic to the military. Dr. Peter Andriesen had worked out very well until the Italians hired him away. Now Eastman found himself back nearly to square one except that the pool of candidates had shrunk and the salaries demanded had increased considerably, along with competition from other GDF units. Just yesterday a note had come into Joschka’s office from the North Americans, reminding the rest of the GDF that they anticipated needing a second xenologist soon and could provide significant remuneration to the right candidate. The week before the German Branch had also announced that it wanted a second xenologist on staff and that the Branch was willing to provide the right candidate with a good salary and fantastic benefits. Thus the letter on Joschka’s desk, with a note from General Jacque McPherson saying more or less, “You encouraged Eastman, you fix it.”
Joschka leaned back in his chair, stroking his beard as he considered what to do. The GDF’s international headquarters lacked the financial resources to increase the British budget and refused to ask the British government for more funds; they’d been unbelievably generous already. And the way the xenologists’ contracts were written, while the civilians could be reassigned, there had to be a very good reason and just now Joschka didn’t have one. Joschka knew of a few other scientists who dabbled in the specialties that Andriesen did, but two were pure academics and the third had a rather loose grip on reality. The GDF dealt with enough metaphorical insanity that Joschka didn’t want to saddle Eastman with the real thing.
The chestnut haired Austrian sat bolt upright as a familiar voice quipped in his memory, “No thank you sir; I’m crazy, not insane.” What if he could lure Major Gupta’s Hairball into applying for the position? She possessed the knowledge, the military background, and the necessary sturdiness, was mentally tough as nails, and could hold her own as the only civilian in the regiment. True, she had other duties, but she also had a certain flexibility of schedule that humans lacked. And if Joschka remembered correctly, she spoke English almost fluently, and did speak near-perfect German.
The more he thought about the possibility, the better he liked it and he warmed at the thought of having his old friend relatively close by. Granted, she’d probably fit the North American slot as well, despite her aversion to the place. But not Germany, at least not until the two senior officers retired and more flexible minds took over. He decided that, given what he knew about Rada, she’d be more likely to work in Britain, although having her in any Branch could benefit the GDF as a whole. Now, how to get Hairball’s attention and pique her interest enough to get her to apply for the position? Joschka blew a smoke ring and plotted.
Dark Hart; en-route to New Hokkaido, AD 42??
“Paymaster’s Purse, but that’s the highest I’ve seen the Exchange! Do you think it’s time to get out?” The lean brunette whistled and pointed to the computer screen. Her business partner twisted around to look, then sat back on her haunches.
<>, the blue-silver True-dragon agreed, and returned to her specially modified computer. Wickedly sharp talons typed away for a few minutes, and she looked over from the screen. <
Rada Ni Drako shook her head, making her waist-length brown-black plait swing. “Politely decline. They’re going to collapse in less than a year. In fact,” and she split her screen and looked up their current broker’s temporal location, “five months and three days, local calendar. I’d have been in on that mess if Major ‘Warmonger’ Willinger hadn’t found a better contract at the last minute. Talk about a debacle of galactic proportions! Glad to have missed that one,” and she leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes and studied the map the ship sent to her mind. They were en-route to a much needed few days at one of Zabet’s favorite resorts.
“How are we set for funds, silver dancer?” Rada wanted to know, once she returned from her steering trance.
<
Rada glanced at her own display and leaned forward to read something. “Um Zabet? Were our reservations locked in for two?”
<
“There’s a message here from Yori, er, Joschka is what he goes by now. It seems he’s now part of an organization on Earth, late Twentieth Century of their calendar, that’s looking for someone who can help the locals fend off the odd intruder or two. No combat duties, just advisory,” she
explained, skimming the message.
<
“To be determined. Local currency, which in that time means useless off world; however, living quarters, meals and work facilities will be provided, which is not that bad, really.” The woman leaned back and considered things. Her reptilian partner managed to turn around in the small space of the timeship’s command/nav area and draped her head and neck over the Wanderer’s shoulder. Zabet closed her bright blue eyes and Rada scratched around the True-dragon’s small, round ears.
<> The mammal and the reptile both sighed. <
“If they were normal, sane beings, it probably would have. Or they’d have given up and counted on combat to take care of ‘the problem’. But I agree, if it’s not going to ruin business, I’d better apply and see if I can get the slot. The last time I spent much time on Earth, the hunt died down for a couple of decades so it’s worth the investment,” Rada pointed out. “And it will give me new stories for Himself, if he doesn’t already know how the specifics turn out.”
<
Rada shifted her hand to rub her partner’s throat. “He works with some of the Dukorlig scholars. They have a long-going research project observing human development. He told me about it when he had me research ancient Terran diseases for them.”
Zabet made a noncommittal grunt. <
