Ride of the Valkyries

by Stuart Slade

  "The French have held there for four years so far. They've done much better than expected; in fact they've rebuilt their military power much more effectively than we thought. We can take some credit for that. When we took out the Champs Elysées, we intended it as a demonstration of what would happen if the French tried to continue their previous policy of assuming Europe was their own private back yard. We intended to show them that the days of Napoleon were gone.

  "‘In fact, we did that better than we could have possibly hoped. There was a French Marshal, Purneaux his name was, who wrote a book saying exactly that. His thesis was that the bombing of the Champs Elysées had cut the heart out of French memories of glory and, to use his own delightful phrase ‘turned a heady stew into packet soup.' He suggested that France could either try to rebuild what was and live forever with packet soup or build a new glory, a new set of traditions that were based on achievement in today's world. That book became the bible of the French military reformers and they've done a pretty good job of applying its lessons.

  "So, Algeria is a reproach and an insult to the Caliphate and an example of resistance to the rest of the world. The Caliphate won't tolerate that. They'll try again. Their existing text-book strategy doesn't work so they're going to try and find something new. That might involve us; they've never forgiven us for Yaffo or Gaza or for any other part of that incident. Remember these people bear grudges that date back a thousand years or more. Something that took place seven years ago is like yesterday to them. If they can have a crack at us again and get away with it, they will.

  "Any ideas on what they will try?"

  "Nothing completely solid but we have picked up a couple of things with SR-71 overflights. The Caliphate has taken delivery of a significant number of Ki-127 Uncle bombers. They're based in Libya and Egypt. They're old, obsolete aircraft."

  "Nuclear capable?"

  "The older versions are not, the later ones are. We believe these aircraft are not nuclear delivery platforms although we can't exclude the possibility. They're a definite threat, to Italy especially. However, the same overflights picked up something much more worrying, here, and here, both newly-built Caliphate bases in Libya. The aircraft are Ki-115s, Slimes. They're specialized aircraft intended for the delivery of chemical weapons. The Chipanese have sold enough of them around the world as agricultural crop-dusters and, in fairness, a lot of them are used that way. They have tanks in the fuselage and spray gear under the wings so they're useful for that. However, it seems unlikely the Caliphate will be interested in dusting crops. We have to keep an eye on those birds."

  "What's the threat to us?"

  "Strategically? Mostly Chipanese. The Chipanese Army have long range ballistic missiles that can cover most of the western half of the USA. Their Navy has submarine-launched ballistic and cruise missiles and long-range cruise-missile carrying bombers. Our defenses can cope with an attack with a high degree of confidence. Our estimate is that the Chipanese may get eight or ten warheads through but that's it. That'll hurt us badly; in exchange, they'd be wiped from the map. Totally destroyed. The situation is swinging our way; once the first Manned Orbital Laboratories go up in two years time, we'll get much more and better warning of any attack.

  "The Caliphate doesn't really have an ability to hit us at home, not yet. Their attempt to develop nuclear weapons is fairly feeble but we're keeping an eye on it with SR-71 and RB-58 overflights. There are a number of new installations at a selection of places in the Iraq and Iran Satrapies that we don't like the look of."

  "‘Thank you Seer. There are some other issues I want to raise but they can wait. A very interesting presentation." Nixon got up and left, Naamah following behind him. Johnson remained behind.

  "There's something worrying you about those Slimes, isn't there?"

  The Seer nodded. "‘I don't like chemical and I don't like bio. Too unpredictable." Johnson nodded and followed the others out. As the door closed. The Seer added quietly to himself. "And I've seen what plague can do."

  Top Floor, Bank de Commerce et Industrie, Geneva, Switzerland.

  If a visitor was to go purely by appearance, Geneva was probably the most boring city in Europe. There was something about the stolid, dependable, cautious, reliable Swiss mentality that had transferred itself to the buildings they put up. They were unimaginative and dull but there was also absolutely no possibility of them falling down. Most other cities in Northern Europe were rebuilding themselves after the ravages of the Second World War. It had taken time, the war had been followed by the long, desperate poverty of the 1950s and the slow recovery of the 1960s. At last, though, the cities were coming back to life. In doing so, they were building new styles, introducing new concepts of architecture that showed the influence of the Italian architects to the south. But the Swiss had carried on in their time honored tradition, putting up buildings that just looked like those they'd built a century before.

  Geneva had changed since its foundation. Then it had been a small village, its only distinction being that it was the first port of safety for the Knights Templar fleeing King Philippe's efforts to destroy the Order. The survivors of the order had found refuge in Geneva; the Genevoise had sheltered them and then sent them to refuges further into the mountains. In exchange, the Knights had trained the mountaineers in the arts of war, turning a rabble of shepherds into a fighting force that had eventually been feared across Europe. Even The Seer, was impressed by their military achievements Thinking of The Seer, Loki's stomach knotted in anger at the image of the face with the mocking grin that always seemed to be plastered across it.

  Because that image reminded Loki of something else. The day that the ground had shaken and thunder rolled across the sky. The day when the horizon in the direction of Germany had erupted with strange red-glowing mushroom clouds. The day of The Big One. So many things angered Loki about that day, most of all that he'd never been told it was coming, that he'd never had a chance to get his people out. He still had agonized memories of the long stream of messages sent out, each one more desperate than the last and none of them ever answered. None, until even Loki had been forced to accept the inevitable and realize all those people were dead.

  That wasn't the only thing that irritated him; although it was the only one he'd admit to. Another was how the targeteers and SAC's bombers had got the credit for ending the war and the contributions of others had been forgotten. Especially his, Loki's. How his Red Orchestra had been the most effective spy ring of the Second World War, infiltrating Nazi Germany at the highest level and funneling back political, strategic and technical data. He'd got the details of the Type XXI U-boats out, warnings about the German jets, their new tanks. He'd warned of German plans, of where they'd strike next and how. All forgotten now, overshadowed by the one day in which SAC had destroyed Germany.

  "I brought some lunch up Loki." Branwen opened the door with her hip, maneuvered the tray through and put it on Loki's desk. On paper, this was a corporate headquarters, the operating center of one of Switzerland's notoriously secretive transnational banks. In fact, it was nothing of the sort although most of the building was taken up by other banks. That too was a legacy of the Knights Templar. At the peak of their power, they had virtually invented modern banking practices and dominated European finances as a result. Their prominence and the fabulous fortunes they'd made had also been responsible for their downfall. The dangers of having a powerful king deeply indebted to them was a consequence they hadn't foreseen and that misjudgment had caused disaster. Still, the Templars had re-established their banking enterprises in Switzerland and they'd prospered. Most of the Swiss banks could trace their lineage back to the Knights Templar. If they wanted to, which most of them didn't. At least, not in public.

  "Thank you Branwen. Oh my, smoked herring. Where did we get that from?" The radioactive pollution from The Big One had destroyed the North Sea and Baltic herring fisheries and turned smoked herring from a working man's staple to a fabulously expensive luxury. />
  "It's slowly coming back and I thought we deserved a treat. They had some in the gourmet place down the street so I grabbed it before they sold out. Those who were a little slower off the mark will have to make do with smoked salmon. Anything interesting come in this morning?"

  Loki thought carefully. Most of his circle, his greatly extended family, was supported by commodity trading, something at which he was very good. Unless, of course, somebody had been making a conscious effort to plunder the market. Once again, Loki's mind knotted with anger. The words ‘South Sea Bubble' echoed around his mind, then he forced himself to calm down. No point in spoiling the rare treat of smoked herring. After all, The Seer hadn't meant to nearly ruin him. "Something is worrying me. I've been looking into Swedish chemical and machine tool trading. I fear they're making under the counter deals with the Caliphate. If they're not careful, that could blow up in their faces."

  Branwen nodded, her mouth full of herring and salad. After she'd savored it, she drank some of the beer she'd brought up and rotated the information in her mind. "Well, there isn't technically a trade embargo on selling goods to the Caliphate. Nobody tries that sort of thing, everybody knows embargoes are a complete waste of time. Mind you, it could hurt their standing with the Mediterranean Confederation countries. They're the front line where the Caliphate is concerned. They might not be too happy with a country selling stuff to their likely enemies."

  "I know, that's what surprises me. I'd have thought there was much more money to be made dealing with Italy and the rest."

  "By the way, Loki, we got a message from Washington."

  "Oh what does he and his harem want now." Loki's voice was exasperated. Branwen swallowed her irritation, the feud between the Seer and Loki was sometimes hard on their associates. Several of The Seer's circle were friends of hers and she found the gibe about them being part of a harem insulting. The Seer's circle was his extended family, just like the circle here in Geneva was Loki's. And if anybody ran the anarchistic American circle, it was Nefertiti, not The Seer.

  "He suggested we make contingency plans about moving out of here in case the Caliphate starts something." She was prevented from going further by the telephone ringing. She picked it up and listened for a moment, a grin spreading over her face. Like most inveterate practical jokers, most of Loki's efforts were a little tiresome; but every so often he came up with a classic. This was one of them. She put a hand over the mouthpiece.

  "It's that British farmer. He needs to know, how big do you want him to make the crop circles."

  HIJMS Aoba, Flagship, South China Sea Squadron, Haiphong, Japanese Indochina.

  "Here it is. ‘Tsuji is a venomous pimple that is bursting with septic corruption and spreading his purulent waste over the nauseating bed of putrefaction in which he and his running dogs wallow.' That's what the Viet Minh's latest propaganda sheet says."

  "The Viet Minh are fools. Haven't they realized by now that flattery will get them nowhere?" Admiral Kurita was careful not to raise his voice too high. He and the Captain of Aoba were alone on the Admiral's bridge and the area was routinely swept for listening equipment but who knew whether the people who did the sweeping could be trusted? "Still they're the Army's problem not ours. We have challenges of our own."

  Not least of which was keeping the fleet running at all Kurita thought. Once the Japanese Navy had been the pride of the country, arguably the most powerful in the world and it had ruled the Pacific. Those days were long past and the fleet's decline was obvious. The ships were old and wearing out. Every year, more became so decrepit that they couldn't be kept running any longer and would have to be towed off to the scrapyard with no replacements in sight. Only six carriers were left now, all more than twenty years old, some nearer thirty.

  The South China Squadron was a good example of how the fleet was being run down. The centerpiece was strong enough, two rocket cruisers, the Yashima and the Asahi with 32 nuclear tipped long-range anti-ship missiles between them. It was their screen that was old and weak. Two heavy cruisers, Asama and Aoba, with 15.5 centimeter anti-aircraft guns, eight Kawari class multirole destroyers converted to missile ships and four of the old Type B destroyers.

  That was the obvious state of affairs. It took an experienced eye to see what lay below the surface. That experienced eye would see a broader than usual strip of red along the ships' waterlines and know that they were running light. Their fuel tanks were more than half empty and there was precious little in the shore storage tanks to top them off. Chipan faced its standard, traditional problem; lack of oil. There were fields in China, but they were hard to exploit and the oil extraction companies didn't have access to the all-weather deep-drilling technology that had turned the Siberian oilfields into a treasure house. The Indonesian oil and gas reserves were cut off by the Triple Alliance that purchased every drop they produced.

  Most of Chipan's oil came from the Middle East, from the Caliphate, and was paid for with military equipment. Another reason why the Navy was short of new ships and new weapons, why it was an aging anachronism. The Army in China got first call on new equipment, fuel, resources, everything it needed. Then, the Caliphate came second. Its demands had to be satisfied if the supply of vital fuel was to remain unrestricted. The Navy came a very poor third. In fact, Kurita thought, if it hadn't been for the cruise- and ballistic missile submarines off America's west coast and the long-range missile-carrying bombers, I doubt if the Japanese Navy would even exist.

  It wasn't as if the Navy was trusted. Not after Soriva had taken Kawachi out to Formosa and made it the base of a new state. Not that it ever admitted that it was a new state of course. Chipan claimed that Formosa was a renegade province that had to be reclaimed someday. Formosa claimed that the rest of Chipan was a set of renegade provinces that had to be reclaimed someday. Still, it had been the Navy forces fleeing from the Showa Restoration Coup that had provided Formosa with the initial tranche of weapons needed to maintain its ambiguous position. And, for that, the entire Navy was the subject of grave suspicion.

  "We have a mission, Captain. The Squadron is to sortie as soon as preparations are complete."

  There was a silence. Neither the Admiral nor the Captain would admit it but the same questions were running through their minds. Just how fit were the ships for sea? They were old, in poor repair. The Type B destroyers were the worst, more than 30 years old, worn out and ready to fall apart. Would the ships be ready for sea? Or would engine failures and other defects cut into the squadron's strength before it even passed through the harbor entrance?

  "We are to provide naval cover for a naval landing in the Southern Pescadores. A regiment of the Special Naval Landing Force is to be put ashore on Pattle Island. They will build a forward naval base where we can deploy fast attack craft to control those waters and interdict the naval supply line used by the Viet Minh."

  There was a cynical grin from both officers at this point. Everybody knew that the Viet Minh drew its supplies overland, from the Triple Alliance in general and from Thailand in particular. And also that the whole supply operation was controlled through networks centered in the Free City of Saigon. The problem was that the majority of Chipan's hard currency earnings also came from Saigon. If there was trouble over that city, that supply of life-giving dollars and sovereigns would be cut off.

  "‘The SNLF will be transported by an amphibious assault group. They will be accompanied by the seaplane carriers Mizuho and Nisshin. They will support the landing operations and establish a seaplane fighter base in the Pattle Island Atoll."

  That made sense, Kurita thought, the excuse about interdicting Viet Minh supply lines was just that, an excuse. It allowed Chipan to claim it was acting against Viet Minh supplies, established that the Viet Minh were an externally-supplied force and not an internal resistance movement to Chipanese rule but did not move against the sacred cash-cow of Saigon. Much more importantly, the operation would establish Chipanese control over the Southern Pescadores and secure the r
ich fishing grounds there. Finally, it was believed there was oil under those waters and oil next to a major Chipanese naval base could solve a lot of problems.

  "‘The Indians won't like it, Admiral."

  ‘‘What can they do? It's a long way from their home waters. They're out of range of land-based air support, even the TSR-2s in Thailand can't cover them. Their carriers are even older and more decrepit than ours and the aircraft they carry are no better than ours. If it came to a fight, they're outgunned and without air cover. But they won't fight. They'll make angry statements and promise violent action but they'll eventually quieten down and accept it. They're scared of us, they remember what happened in ‘54 and ‘55 and they'll back down. And if they do decide to fight. . ."

  Kurita turned around and looked out of his bridge, across to where the Yashima and the Asahi lay at anchor. The missile cruisers had been designed as replacements for both aircraft carriers and conventional gun cruisers. Their lack of armor made them relatively simple to build. Their small crews made them economical to run and their nuclear missiles gave them the firepower of a carrier. For one shot anyway. With nuclear weapons, the first shot was the only one that mattered.