Robert Frezza - [Colonial War 01]

by A Small Colonial War (epub)

  Koskela’s drivers wasted no time in maneuvering on board. Grunting under the weight of his bergean, Suslov picked up one of the poles with Koskela and kicked his only relatively unscathed prisoner, a dazed bearded man, toward the open ramp. The gp and the eighty-eight moved in through the forward doors along with the s-mortarman, almost buried under an array of captured weaponry.

  With the massive, counter-rotating front and back rotors swung out and pointing toward the sky, it never ceased to amaze Suslov that they never tangled even when they seemed to overlap moving from horizontal to vertical. Although Suslov’s mind accepted the fact that a tilt was safer than a helicopter, his heart was slow to follow. In actuality, whatever advantage the tilt-props gave away to true helicopters during vertical lift, they more than made up in sustained flight with the pusher engines in back feathering to lessen fuel consumption. Although inferior in over-all performance to normal planes, like the “jump-jets” of an earlier era, their ability to take off and land vertically more than compensated for this disadvantage.

  After the first three wounded cowboys were loaded, Suslov pulled in his teams on perimeter security while the mortarmen went back for the last two. “One point Akita. Break. Vladimir, Martti! If you don’t come in, we won’t hold dinner.”

  They appeared almost immediately at a disciplined quickstep from either side. Between the time the tilt-prop first appeared and the time the doors closed, six minutes passed.

  James McClausland rode in that evening from the lake country to discuss terms with Admiral Lee and Janine Joh. On balance, Admiral Lee considered the operation extremely successful.

  Saturday(l)

  DR. A. DE R. BEYERS, BURGEMEESTER OF JOHANNESBURG,

  folded his hands calmly, looking across to young Captain Sanmartin.

  The demand for the food that the farmers could market had increased, and so had the demand for the products the workers at Complex could turn out. The Volk were already more divided. One attempt at a boycott had foiled miserably when the Imperials hinted that they would shift their purchasing to the uit-landers. With a commendable sense of the absurd, the populace had nicknamed the Imperial garrisons from the captain’s battalion the suikslapers, which translates best as “squatters.”

  The Imperials were a fact. Since announcing the abrogation of the United Steel-Standard charter, they were almost popular, but Albert Beyers had little doubt the captain’s vehicles merited the gallows insignia they bore.

  Beyers’s predecessor had chosen to treat Captain Sanmartin’s politeness as an absence of resolve. In lieu of names and addresses which had failed to materialize, Captain Sanmartin had appeared in his predecessor’s office with a few light machine gunners to accept a letter of resignation, printed in impeccable Afrikaans. Albert Beyers had his job.

  Peering across the glass-topped table, Beyers was mildly surprised that his predecessor, for whom he had no great regard, had found a proper estimation so difficult. Beyers could recall the faces of the old men who had passed through the fires of the Bantu Wars. The young captain had a measure of that; their present inability to communicate was mildly irritating.

  Beyers had already spent most of a day attempting to locate a suitable interpreter, du Toit’s interpreter having failed to realize that guileless Captain Sanmartin would record discussions for later review by someone who spoke Afrikaans. However, if Beyers understood the captain correctly, the Imperials would send one out in a few days. Beyers looked forward to his arrival.

  Beyers intended to arrange acceptable accommodations with the Imperials. He was desperately afraid of what would occur if he did not.

  Far away, on the north bank of the Vaal, kindly hands grasped the rancher Ian Chalker as he methodically tried to match severed legs to the bodies of two of his sons. The bloated, blackened corpses were difficult to distinguish one from another.

  Sunday(2)

  ON THE EIGHTH DAY, MOSTLY THEY RESTED. MATTI HARJALO

  observed that it made good sense to sleep in on a day when the Boers were in church praying for God to afflict the minions of Pharaoh.

  Along the line of the Vaal, the Iceman, Major Kolomeitsev, left one rifle platoon to man a screen of outposts and threw in two light attack platoons, his own and the one allotted to Yosh-ida, to cover the minefields which Reinikka’s engineers had laid from opposite Chalkton to Little Lizard Swamp.

  He calculated a further lesson to the cowboys was in order.

  Quiddities(2)

  FOR FIRST WEEK THE IMPERIALS WERE DOWNSIDE, OPPOSITION

  was scattered and uncoordinated. Apart from Tsai and Chalker, the rancher lords adopted a policy of accommodation. The existing power structures in the Afrikaner communities likewise adopted no radical measures. They were far too concerned with immediate needs to bother with politics, for several reasons.

  Electric power from the ocean tap was easily produced and well suited for most home and industrial uses. Most of all, it was cheap. The fixed rail system that brought ore from the mines to the refineries and raw materials from the refineries to Complex ran on electric power. Many of the trucks, buses, and automobiles ran on electric power. The telecommunication system degraded by GrafSpee and her consorts on L-day ran on electric power. From appliances to refrigeration, in one way or another, quite a few things were dependent upon the ocean tap, and backup systems do not command a high priority in a pioneer society.

  When Admiral Lee turned out the lights at the ocean tap “for a limited time pending the restoration of full services,” lights went out. They came back on gradually for selected industrial operations and selected, pacified communities.

  Admiral Lee also suspended deliveries of alcohol from Complex. The expected panic set in, with widespread hoarding of available stocks. Although alcohol stills are much easier to cobble together than are power plants, the shortfall was not one that was made up in a day. Apart from the delivery of essential items such as foodstuffs, movement in and between communities virtually ceased.

  Those few areas that took steps to expand home guard formations with an eye toward resistance immediately encountered difficulties. Lured both by tradition and the lack of practical alternatives, both ranchers and Boers turned to the horse as a means of transport and transportation. In areas such as Dewets-dorp District where the number of experienced horsemen was not large, efforts collapsed even before the Imperials applied gentle pressure. The Dewetsdorp home guards convinced themselves that their beasts could be fed on a steady diet of ferns and other native plants. They were nicknamed “the horse-breakers” before they disbanded.

  With the imposition of martial law and curfew, it was nine days before a full meeting of the executive council of the Afrikaner Bond could be arranged to decide what the response of the organization would be. In the interim, local cells, largely left without direction, avoided incidents, and the Afrikaner “provisional” district councils were permitted to fade into obscurity.

  Of course, even Admiral Lee’s detractors were willing to concede he was very smart, for a Korean. However, grasping control of the situation is merely the first step undertaken by an Imperial task force.

  Monday(2)

  COLDEWE TOED SANMARTIN AWAKE. “RISE AND SHINE, BRIGHT eyes. The sun shines, the birds sing. You have guests, and your presence is desired,” Hans hissed in a sugary stage whisper.

  “Stretch forth your hands and touch the new rays of the morning,” he added, presumably quoting something or other.

  It had been a bad night and a worse morning. Sanmartin rubbed his eyes. A patrol and a court-martial had not improved his disposition. “What birds?” he croaked. Thinking better of this, he added, “Hans, I’m going to stake you out on an anthill.”

  “Honored sir, I believe Lieutenant Coldewe is no longer able to hear you,” said an unfamiliar voice;

  Sanmartin bolted upright, reaching for the assault rifle that Coldewe had thoughtfully slipped from his grasp.

  “I am, however, most pleased to understand that you
will be learning matters of intelligence from me. I trust that our association will be a pleasing one,” Senior Intelligence Sergeant Shimazu continued crisply. He snapped to attention and offered a brisk salute.

  Sanmartin staggered to his feet and returned the salute with something less than a flourish. He noticed a civilian behind Shimazu blushing.

  “Juffrou Bruwer will be our interpreter,” Shimazu said.

  “Honored to meet you, Juffrou Bruwer,” Sanmartin said, conscious of the fact he was wearing the emperor’s new clothes.

  “I am most pleased to meet you, heer captain. If you could please excuse me ...” She scurried out of the bunker.

  “Honored captain, is there anything you would require of me before I begin to set up?” Shimazu inteijected.

  “No. Nothing. We’re happy to have you as our guest, senior intelligence sergeant, and I look forward to learning something about intelligence.”

  Sticking his head into a bucket of water, he hastily climbed into mottled fatigues. He failed to locate Coldewe. Finally he sighed and walked out to the remodeled farmhouse where Kasha the cook had her field establishment.

  Habitually split off to function independently, Vereshchagin’s rifle companies were not overwhelmingly endowed with dead weight. Sanmartin had a clerk, two communications men, an armorer, something euphemistically called an acquisitions clerk, and two cooks. The rest filled spaces in the platoon perimeters. While combatant companies were intended to be exclusively male, one made exception for genius. “Kasha” Vladimirovna was arguably the most important person in the company. Her understudy existed solely in case she bought herself an urn.

  As for the rest, Rytov, the armorer, had joined the battalion at sixteen straight from the orphanage in Lappeenranta to which he had been evacuated at the age of three from Leningrad. He had refused promotion thrice, retirement twice, and claimed to have seen the paintings destroyed with the Hermitage. The company clerk was an utterly efficient cipher who split watches with the commo men, fed the computer, and kept the books reasonably crooked. Grigorenko was the company scrounger.

  Normally, two or three of them were present in Kasha’s mess at any given time. Entering, Sanmartin saw only Shimazu’s new interpreter seated with her shoulders slumped, untouched sausages and duck eggs in front of her on a plate. He altered course. She saw him and rose disjointedly, bowing.

  Slowing, he waved her down. “Please, Juffrou Bruwer, please sit.”

  “Heer captain?”

  He flipped a chair around and settled in, resting his elbows on its back. “Welcome. First, I must apologize for inadvertently embarrassing you. My executive officer usually organizes his practical jokes with more discretion.” He glanced down at her untouched meal. “Aren’t you going to eat that?”

  “Well...” she stammered.

  He pulled her platter over. “Please, may I? If Kasha even suspects you don’t like her food . . . You don’t actually dislike food, do you?”

  “Nothing like that. I just did not feel like eating,” she replied distractedly.

  “Good. That’s very good. If Kasha thinks you don’t like it, she will weep and relay messages through canaries. How did Rhett talk you into this, anyway?”

  “Rhett?”

  “I’m sorry, Acting Major Rettaglia, our intelligence officer, who can sell snow to polar bears.” Cutting into the sausages, Sanmartin watched for Kasha Vladimirovna out of the comer of his right eye. Kasha had a soft spot—either in her heart or in her head—for stray nestlings which her present husband took in stride.

  “I am not certain what you mean, Heer Captain.”

  “Please forget it.”

  Sanmartin wondered what normal people did for conversation. He examined her face between forkfuls, studying it and her. Bruwer had high, broad, even cheekbones that swept down into a pointed chin. Her mouth was not wide, and it turned down naturally at either comer. Her hair was a fine gold-blond, cut str ight across the front and hanging down straight with some sort of flare at the sides that he supposed was a style. She was neither thin or fat. The overall effect was not unattractive in a brittle way.

  “When did you get here?” he asked, mopping up the last of the shell eggs. When she made no response, he laid down his fork and studied her closely. “Do you always look this pale, or is there something in particular bothering you?”

  “There was a man here. They lined up and shot him.” “That. Just so. I’m sorry, it’s not as though we greet every guest with a field execution. Justitia suum cuique distribuit. ” “I am very sorry, I do not recognize the words. Are they Japanese?”

  “It’s a Latin tag. ‘Justice renders to everyone what is due him’ is an acceptable translation. Our newest and least distinguished replacement committed forcible rape. Bardiyev was fool enough to let him off a checkpoint to empty his trousers. I suppose I’ll need you to translate the sentence of the court for the benefit of the townsfolk. After we put a few holes in the wall where former Recruit Private Novelo was standing, I ripped a stripe from Bardiyev for general stupidity.”

  Bruwer blinked back in concern. “Are you then so very strict?”

  “Not I. Somebody strict like the Iceman would have had Bardi standing next to Novelo for even thinking about trying to cover up a mess like that. He should have shot Novelo on the spot and saved us the bother. I gave his job to Beregov.” He saw her dazed expression. “Bonis nocet quisquis pepercerit malis. ‘In all things, whoever spares the bad injures the good.’ The truth is, we don’t shoot people very often. Our own, that is. This was my first.” He dabbed at his mouth. “We are pleased to have you. How is it that you came to work for us?”

  “Some Friends, they called. They seemed to think it would be a good idea. I spoke to my grandfather, and he agreed. I had no job.” She hesitated. “How is it that you came?’’

  “I wasn’t asked, I can tell you that.”

  “No, I meant why did you Imperials come.”

  “The usual, I suppose,” he said, lightly. “To make ourselves a peace.”

  “If we do not care for your peace?”

  “We’ll make ourselves a solitude and call it peace, as Galgacus said of the Romans, I suppose.”

  She looked at him wide-eyed.

  “Sometimes that’s what we do,” he said.

  She looked down, then she looked up again. “You are spilling your tea,” she observed hesitantly.

  “Oh, just so.” He set the cup down with an effort. “Considering it’s tea, I’m not sure I mind. My hand seems to be shaking.”

  She stared at him. “Then it does bother you.”

  “As I said, this is my first.”

  She thought for a second. “I almost left. I would have.”

  He smiled, a little. “Juffrou Bruwer, I have a request. I came to apologize and have a polite, friendly conversation. Are there any polite, friendly questions I can answer?”

  She sat very still for a moment, then she dimpled very slighdy. “Yes, I have two, Heer Captain. What is that song that you were playing when you drove into Johannesburg? Everyone has been asking.”

  “Fame at last. That was The Little Tin Soldier, which is nearly as popular as The Whistling Pig. We save it for very special martial occasions. It’s the battalion drinking song. And?” “Heer Captain, is there a room ...”

  He coughed politely. “That we’re working on. I noticed Hans put a couple of men on it. And please stop calling me ‘Heer Captain.’ I keep turning around. ‘Sanmartin’ is fine. ‘Raul, you idiot’ is probably better.” He waved his hand airily. “They used to call me 'Tak Tochno, ’ which is Russian for ‘Just so.’ ” “Oh.”

  He picked up the teacup, cradled it with both hands, and then set it back down. It was a wonderful way to start off. Sanmartin wondered what else he could foul up. He bowed politely and began to rise.

  “Captain Sanmartin!”

  “Yes?”

  “Please call me Hanna.”

  He continued feeling only half-dead and sligh
tly foolish.

  Tuesday(2)

  VERESHCHAGIN HAD ATTENDED MANY STAFF MEETINGS. UNFORtunately, Colonel Lynch’s weekly staff meetings placed futility on a new footing. Uwe Eybl, the light attack battalion commander, had openly displayed his disenchantment, both with his brigade commander and with the infantrymen of Kimura’s that his vehicles were supporting.

  After the meeting, before Vereshchagin could nIi|> nvvny. Lynch had called Vereshchagin aside, crushing out Ins cigurutir with obvious irritation.

  “Vereshchagin, I wish to inspect your command.”

  Vereshchagin wrinkled his nose. His antipathy to burnt tobacco was legendary, which might have had something to do with this. “As you desire, Colonel. When would you care to come by?”

  “Right now. There is no time like the present. I want to see C Company in Johannesburg.”

  “Most of C Company is standing down from night patrols,” Vereshchagin explained patiently, as if to a small child.

  “All the better. I want to impress upon all my units that instant readiness is expected in my command. They should be prepared every second of every day. Little police actions like Ashcroft take the edge off soldiers. They get slovenly. I will not tolerate this.”

  “As you wish. Do you have your own transportation?” Vereshchagin’s eyes fixed on Lynch’s protruding gut. Lynch’s aide, Captain Dong, stood in silent witness.

  “You came in on the supply flight, didn’t you? My staff and I will do die same.” -

  Vereshchagin mentally flipped a coin to see whether food or ammunition suffered. Colonel’s Lynch’s reluctance to approve direct resupply from space had prompted Uwe’s original outburst. Food won the toss but lost the space anyway.

  “As you wish, Colonel.”

  “We’ll be leaving at 1300 local time. No communications, now, Vereshchagin. I want to surprise them.”

  “As you wish, Colonel.” Vereshchagin saluted, walked out, and tried to decide where he could best twiddle his thumbs for three hours. To cadge a meal, he walked into the bunker that served as a mess for the headquarters detachment. He discovered an old friend in ambush.