"Soldier," said Suriyawong, "I have not been bewitched. This woman knows the ground-plan of the Indian Army high command base in Hyderabad."
"Why would an Indian give that to us?" the soldier asked.
"Because the bunduck who's running the Indian side of the war has a prisoner there who's vital to the war."
Now it was making sense to the soldier. The magic element receded. He pulled his satrad off his belt and punched in the abort code. All the other satrads immediately vibrated in the pre-set pattern.
At once the explosives teams began dismantling. If they were to evacuate without dismantling, a second code, for urgency, would be sent. Suriyawong did not want any part of their materiel to fall into Indian hands. And he thought a more leisurely pace might be better.
"Soldier, I need to seem to be hypnotised by this woman," he said. "I am not hypnotised, but I'm faking it so the Indian soldiers all around us will think she's controlling me. Got that?"
"Yes, sir."
"So while I walk back toward her, you call Bean and tell him that I need all the choppers but mine to evacuate, so the Indians can see they're gone. Then say 'Petra.' Got that? Tell him nothing else, no matter what he asks. We may be monitored, if not here, then in Hyderabad." Or Beijing, but he didn't want to complicate things by saying that.
"Yes, sir."
Suriyawong turned his back on the soldier, walked three paces closer to Virlomi, and then prostrated himself before her.
Behind him, he could hear the soldier saying exactly what he had been told to say.
And after a very little while, choppers began to rise into the air from both sides of the ravine. Bean's troops were on the way out.
Suriyawong got up and returned to his men. His company had come in two choppers. "All of you get in the chopper with the explosives," he said. "Only the pilot and co-pilot stay in the other chopper."
The men obeyed immediately, and within three minutes Suriyawong was alone at his end of the bridge. He turned and bowed once again to Virlomi, then walked calmly to his chopper and climbed aboard.
"Rise slowly," he told the pilot, "and then pass slowly near the woman in the middle of the bridge, door side toward her. At no point is any weapon to be trained on her. Nothing remotely threatening."
Suriyawong watched through the window. Virlomi was not signalling.
"Rise higher, as if we were leaving," said Suriyawong.
The pilot obeyed.
Finally, Virlomi began waving her arms, beckoning with both of them, slowly, as if she were reeling them back in with each movement of her arms.
"Slow down and then begin to descend toward her. I want no chance of error. The last thing we need is some down draft to get her caught in the blades."
The pilot laughed grimly and brought the chopper like a dancer down onto the bridge, far enough away that Virlomi wasn't actually under the blades, but close enough that it would be only a few steps for her to come aboard.
Suriyawong ran to the door and opened it.
Virlomi did not just walk to the chopper. She danced to it, making ritual-like circling movements with each step.
On impulse, he got out of the chopper and prostrated himself again. When she got near enough, he said—loud enough to be heard over the chopper blades—"Walk on me!"
She did, planting her bare feet on his shoulders and walking down his back. Suriyawong didn't know how they could have communicated more clearly to the Indian soldiers that not only had Virlomi saved their bridge, she had also taken control of this chopper.
She was inside.
He got up, turned slowly, and sauntered onto the chopper.
The sauntering ended the moment he was inside. He rammed the door lever up into place and shouted, "I want jets as fast as you can!"
The chopper rose dizzily. "Strap down," Suriyawong ordered Virlomi. Then, seeing she wasn't familiar with the inside of this craft, he pushed her into place and put the ends of her harness into her hands. She got it at once and finished the job while he hurled himself into his place and got his straps in place just as the chopper cut the blades and plummeted for a moment before the jets kicked in. Then they rocketed down the ravine and out of range of the hand-held g-to-a missiles.
"You just made my day," said Suriyawong.
"Took you long enough," said Virlomi. "I thought this bridge was one of the first places you'd hit."
"We figured that's what people would think, so we kept not coming here."
"Greeyaz," she said. "I should have remembered to think completely ass-backward in order to predict what Battle School brats would do."
Bean had known the moment he saw her on the bridge that she had to be Virlomi, the Indian Battle Schooler who had answered his Briseis posting. He could only trust that Suriyawong would realise what was happening before he found the need to shoot somebody. And Surly had not let him down.
When they got back to the staging area, Bean barely greeted Virlomi before he started giving orders. "I want the whole staging area dismantled. Everybody's coming with us." While the company commanders saw to that, Bean ordered one of the chopper communications team to set up a net connection for him.
"That's satellite," the soldier said. "We'll be located right away."
"We'll be gone before anyone can react," said Bean.
Only then did he start explaining to Suriyawong and Virlomi. "We're fully equipped, right?"
"But not fully fuelled."
"I'll take care of that," he said. "We're going to Hyderabad right now."
"But I haven't even drawn up the plans."
"Time for that in the air," he said. "This time we ride together, Suriyawong. Can't be helped—we both have to know the whole plan."
"We've waited this long," said Suriyawong. "What's the hurry now?"
"Two things," said Bean. "How long do you think it'll be before word reaches Achilles that our strike force picked up an Indian woman who was waiting for us on a bridge? Second thing—I'm going to force Peter Wiggin's hand. All hell is going to break loose, and we're riding the wave."
"What's the objective?" asked Virlomi. "To save Petra? To kill Achilles?"
"To bring out every Battle School kid who'll come with us."
"They'll never leave India," she said. "I may decide to stay myself"
"Wrong on both counts," said Bean. "I give India less than a week before Chinese troops have control of New Delhi and Hyderabad and any other city they want."
"Chinese?" asked Virlomi. "But there's some kind of—"
"Non-aggression pact?" said Bean. "Arranged by Achilles?"
"He's been working for China all along," said Suriyawong. "The Indian Army is exposed, under supplied, exhausted, demoralised."
"But… if China comes in on the side of the Thai, isn't that what you want?"
Suriyawong gave a sharp, bitter laugh. "China comes in on the side of China. We tried to warn our own people, but they're sure they have a deal with Beijing."
Virlomi understood at once. Battle School-trained, she knew how to think the way Bean and Suriyawong did. "So that's why Achilles didn't use Petra's plan."
Bean and Suriyawong laughed and gave short little bows to each other.
"You knew about Petra's plan?"
"We assumed there'd be a better plan than the one India's using."
"So you have a plan to stop China?" said Virlomi.
"Not a chance," said Bean. "China might have been stopped a month ago, but nobody listened." He thought of Peter and barely staunched the fury. "Achilles himself may still be stopped, or at least weakened. But our goal is to keep the Indian Battle School team from falling into Chinese hands. Our Thai friends already have escape routes planned. So when we get to Hyderabad, we not only need to find Petra, we need to offer escape to anyone who'll come. Will they listen to you?"
"We'll see, won't we?" said Virlomi.
"The connection's ready," said a soldier. "I didn't actually link yet, because that's when the clock starts ticking."
>
"Do it," said Bean. "I've got some things to say to Peter Wiggin."
I'm coming, Petra. I'm getting you out.
As for Achilles, if he happens to come within my reach, there'll be no mercy this time, no relying on someone else to keep him out of circulation. I'll kill him without discussion. And my men will have orders to do the same.
encrypt key decrypt key
To: Locke%[email protected]
From: [email protected]/scom
Re: Now, or I will
I'm in a battlefield situation and I need two things from you, now.
First, I need permission from the Sri Lankan government to land at the base at Kilinochchi to refuel, ETA less than an hour. This is a non-military rescue mission to retrieve Battle School graduates in imminent danger of capture, torture, enslavement, or at the very least imprisonment.
Second, to justify this and all other actions I'm about to take; to persuade those Battle Schoolers to come with me; and to create confusion in Hyderabad, I need you to publish now. Repeat, NOW. Or I will publish my own article, here attached, which specifically names you as a co-conspirator with the Chinese, as proven by your failure to publish what you know in a timely manner. Even though I don't have Locke's worldwide reach, I have a nice little email list of my own, and my article will get attention. Yours, however, would have far faster results, and I would prefer it to come from you.
Pardon my threat. I can't afford to play any more of your "wait for the right time" games. I'm getting Petra out.
encrypt key decrypt key
TO: [email protected]/scom
From: Locke%[email protected]
Re: Done
Confirmed: Sri Lanka grants landing permission/refuelling privileges at Kilinochchi for aircraft on humanitarian mission. Thai markings?
Confirmed: my essay released as of now, worldwide push distribution. This includes urgent fyi push into the systems at Hyderabad and Bangkok.
Your threat was sweetly loyal to your friend, but not necessary. This was the time I was waiting for. Apparently you didn't realise that the moment I published, Achilles would have to move his operations, and would probably take Petra with him. How would you have found her, if I had published a month ago?
encrypt key decrypt key
To: Locke%[email protected]
From: [email protected]/scom
Re: Done
Confirm: Thai markings
As to your excuse: Kuso. If that had been your reason for delay, you would have told me a month ago. I know the real reason, even if you don't, and it makes me sick.
For two weeks after Virlomi disappeared, Achilles had not once come into the planning room—which no one minded, especially after the reward was issued for Virlomi's return. No one dared speak of it openly, but all were glad she had escaped Achilles' vengeance. They were all aware, of course, of the heightened security around them—for their "protection." But it didn't change their lives much. It wasn't as if any of them had ever had time to go frolicking in down town Hyderabad, or fraternising with officers twice or three times their age on the base.
Petra was sceptical of the reward offer, though. She knew Achilles well enough to know that he was perfectly capable of offering a reward for the capture of someone he had already killed. What safer cover could he have? Still, if that were the case it would imply that he did not have carte blanche from Mal Chapekar—if he had to hide things from the Indian government, it meant Achilles was not yet running everything.
When he did return, there was no sign of a bruise on his face. Either Petra's kick had not left a mark, or it took two weeks for it to heal completely. Her own bruises were not yet gone, but no one could see them, since they were under her shirt. She wondered if he had any testicular pain. She wondered if he had had to see a urologist. She did not allow any trace of her gloating to appear on her face.
Achilles was full of talk about how well the war was going and what a good job they were doing in Planning. The army was well supplied and despite the harassment of the cowardly Thai military, the campaign was moving forward on schedule. The revised schedule, of course.
Which was such greeyaz. He was talking to the planners. They knew perfectly well that the army was bogged down, that they were still fighting the Burmese in the Irrawaddy plain because the Thai Army's harassment tactics made it impossible to mount the crushing offensive that would have driven the Burmese into the mountains and allowed the Indian Army to proceed into Thailand. Schedule? There was no schedule now.
What Achilles was telling them was: This is the party line. Make sure no memo or email from this room gives anyone even the slightest hint that events are not going according to plan.
It did not change the fact that everyone in Planning could smell defeat. Supplying a huge army on the move was taxing enough to India's limited resources. Supplying it when half the supplies were likely to disappear due to enemy action was chewing through India's resources faster than they could hope to replenish them.
At current rates of manufacture and consumption, the army would run out of munitions in seven weeks. But that would hardly matter—unless some miracle happened, they would run out of non-renewable fuel in four.
Everyone knew that if Petra's plan had been followed, India would have been able to continue such an offensive indefinitely, and attrition would already have destroyed Burmese resistance. The war would already be on Thai soil, and the Indian Army would not be limping along with a relentless deadline looming up behind them.
They did not talk in the planning room, but at meals they carefully, obliquely, discussed things. Was it too late to revert to the other strategy? Not really—but it would require a strategic withdrawal of the bulk of India's army, which would be impossible to conceal from the people and the media. Politically, it would be a disaster. But then, running out of bullets or fuel would be even more disastrous.
"We have to draw up plans for withdrawal anyway," said Sayagi. "Unless some miracle happens in the field—some brilliance in a field commander that has hitherto been invisible, some political collapse in Burma or Thailand—we're going to need a plan to extricate our people."
"I don't think we'll get permission to spend time on that," someone answered.
Petra rarely said anything at meals, despite her new custom of sitting at table with one or another group from Planning. This time, though, she spoke up. "Do it in your heads," she said.
They paused for a moment, and then Sayagi nodded. "Good plan. No confrontation."
From then on, part of mealtime consisted of cryptic reports from each member of the team on the status of every portion of the withdrawal plan.
Another time that Petra spoke had nothing to do with military planning, per se. Someone had jokingly said that this would be a good time for Bose to return. Petra knew the story of Subhas Chandra Bose, the Netaji of the Japanese-backed anti-British-rule Indian National Army during World War II. When he died in a plane crash on the way to Japan at the end of the war, the legend among the Indian people was that he was not really dead, but lived on, planning to return someday to lead the people to freedom. In the centuries since then, invoking the return of Bose was both a joke and a serious comment—that the current leadership was as illegitimate as the British Raj had been.
From the mention of Bose, the conversation turned to a discussion of Gandhi. Someone started talking about "peaceful resistance"—never implying that anyone in Planning might contemplate such a thing, of course—and someone else said, "No, that's passive resistance."
That was when Petra spoke up. "This is India, and you know the word. It's satyagraha, and it doesn't mean peaceful or passive resistance at all."
"Not everyone here speaks Hindi," said a Tamil planner.
"But everyone here should know Gandhi," said Petra.
Sayagi agreed with her. "Satyagraha is something else. The willingness to endure great personal suffering in order to do what's right."
"What's th
e difference, really?"
"Sometimes," said Petra, "what's right is not peaceful or passive. What matters is that you do not hide from the consequences. You bear what must be borne."
"That sounds more like courage than anything else," said the Tamil.
"Courage to do right," said Sayagi. "Courage even when you can't win."
"What happened to 'discretion is the better part of valour'?"
"A quotation from a cowardly character in Shakespeare," someone else pointed out.
"Not contradictory anyway," said Sayagi. "Completely different circumstances. If there's a chance of victory later through withdrawal now, you keep your forces intact. But personally, as an individual, if you know that the price of doing right is terrible loss or suffering or even death, satyagraha means that you are all the more determined to do right, for fear that fear might make you unrighteous."
"Oh, paradoxes within paradoxes."
But Petra turned it from superficial philosophy to something else entirely. "I am trying," she said, "to achieve satyagraha."
And in the silence that followed, she knew that some, at least, understood. She was alive right now because she had not achieved satyagraha, because she had not always done the right thing, but had done only what was necessary to survive. And she was preparing to change that. To do the right thing regardless of whether she lived through it or not. And for whatever reason—respect for her, uncomfortableness with the intensity of it, or serious contemplation—they remained silent until the meal ended and they spoke again of quotidian things.
Now the war had been going for a month, and Achilles was giving them daily pep talks about how victory was imminent even as they wrestled privately with the growing problems of extricating the army. There had been some victories, and at two points the Indian Army was now in Thai territory—but that only lengthened the supply lines and put the army into mountainous country again, where their large numbers could not be brought to bear against the enemy, yet still had to be supplied. And these offensives had chewed through fuel and munitions. In a few days, they would have to choose between fuelling tanks and fuelling supply trucks. They were about to become a very hungry all-infantry army.
The Shadow of the Hegemon - Orson Scott Card Page 31
