by Джеффри Лорд
«You won’t be a captain very long, however. There will be quite a few vacancies at higher levels as soon as we know which of the present Independent people will have to be transferred out of fieldwork. Some of them haven’t made the necessary adjustments from peace to war.»
Blade nodded. That was inevitable, in any intelligence network. Even some people who had already been living and working under near wartime conditions couldn’t go on when the world marched off to war all around them.
They sipped at their whiskey, and R went on. «As far as our operations in Nordsbergen being penetrated, we’ve suspected that was the case for several weeks. So we set up a number of diversions at the ends of all the routes we suspected might be compromised. Each of these diversions was also covered by another operation. Meanwhile, we set up a completely new route to extract all the key material and personnel. It worked quite successfully.»
«What about the diversions?»
«We sent in six of our people. You are the only one who’s still alive.»
Blade could not come up with a quick or easy answer. R saved him the trouble.
«We also suspected this would happen when we heard that General Golovin was in Nordsbergen.»
The name rang a faint bell in Blade’s mind. «Their security chief?»
«Yes. The Chairman of the Counterintelligence Office of the Red Flames’ Administration of State Security. He’s a professional soldier, but he’s made a specialty of intelligence work for thirty years. He personally directed Red Flame operations against Imperial citizens in three of the conquered countries over the last fifteen years.»
«He must have come up fast. Is he that good?»
«He is. He’s also a thoroughly unpleasant type, personally. A sadistic streak a mile wide. He also has one other weakness. He’s too fond of being as far up front as he can manage when there’s a big operation on. Since he’s six feet eight, he’s rather hard to conceal. So when he’s spotted, it’s usually a reliable indication that the Red Flames have a high-priority operation underway. We can react accordingly.»
«I see.» R’s being able to react on cue had been no help to five of the six agents who’d been part of the reaction. But that was too often the way intelligence operations worked out. Knowing who your enemy was and where he was didn’t necessarily mean safety. It could mean that he knew the same things about you.
«Do we have anything on how the Nordsbergen operations were blown?»
«Nothing reliable. We’re doing a good deal to remedy that situation, of course, including checking for leaks in our own staff. That will be one of your jobs for about the next six weeks.»
«Sir?»
«You’ll have about six weeks of light duty before you start the briefing for another field assignment. During that time you’ll be assigned to Division Headquarters. You’ll be one of the first new people there since the crisis with the Red Flames developed. That means you’ve a good chance of being one of the people any Red Flame agent will test out, to see if you can be used. I trust you have no objections to keeping a watchful eye on your colleagues and associates?»
Blade slowly shook his head, and gave the answer he’d worked out for himself over the years. «No, sir, I can’t say that I do. In the long run it’s self-defense. If they’re working for the opposition, they can kill me just as thoroughly as a Russlander with an assault rifle.»
R nodded, smiling, and poured out some more whiskey.
Chapter 10
For three days Blade was assigned a private room in one wing of Special Operations headquarters. Except for the view and the different color scheme, the room was identical to the one in which he’d awakened on his first day in the service of the Division. During those three days it was made clear that he not only didn’t have to do anything but shouldn’t even try.
The medical officer was blunt. «It’s a pattern we’re trying to break. Tough young man does four field jobs in rapid succession without resting up between them. Thinks he’s indestructible. Sneers at doctors’ orders to rest. Goes out on fifth mission and stress load catches up with him. End of tough young man.» He glowered at Blade through thick-lensed glasses. «With a war on we can’t afford this, even if you think you can.»
So Blade spent three days catching up on lost sleep, missed meals and intelligence reports that had come in while he was out in the field. He didn’t mind three days of it, but he was glad it ended before boredom set in.
He spent a number of hours during those three days studying the files on the huge VTOL transport planes. Officially they were Avro Model 167 Assault Transports. Unofficially they were «the Elephants.» Blade’s status as an Independent Operations man gave him an acceptable «Need to know» for information about them, and about a good many more of the latest Imperial weapons and devices.
As Blade told the chief clerk, «I may be traveling in one of the Elephants before too long.»
The clerk looked dubious. «Maybe, captain, and maybe not. They’re lovely great machines, no doubt of it. But they’ve got a ways to go before anybody except the test pilots will be riding in them anywhere.» Blade nodded politely, dropped the files into the attache case chained to his wrist, and returned to his room.
The clerk had probably been giving him a cover story. The existence of the transports could not be kept a secret, so somebody must have decided to do the next best thing-give out a story that they were still full of bugs. Blade was quite certain that the assault transports were much closer than that to being ready for combat.
After reading the files, he was even more certain that the Empire had to be saving the Elephants as a nasty surprise for the Red Flames. It certainly would be a nasty surprise when it came. The big planes could carry fifty tons of cargo or two hundred fully equipped soldiers two thousand miles, land vertically, unload, take off vertically, and return to base. They could exceed the speed of sound at low altitude and move even faster higher up. The variable-sweep wing helped give them an incredible combination of speed, range, and maneuverability.
As Blade expected, these qualities required a number of technological breakthroughs. At least three new alloys were involved in the construction of the assault transports, all superior in strength-to-weight ratios and heat resistance to anything else in existence. So was a new chemical fuel, five times as powerful as the best of conventional jet fuels.
There was no hard data in the files on either the alloys or the fuel. Blade didn’t expect to find any. The fuel and the alloys were undoubtedly classified several degrees beyond MOST SECRET. It would be a long time before he would be able to prove any «Need to Know» for them.
It took time, though, to build the factories and refineries to produce the new alloys and the new fuel. Until these were ready, the assault transports would have to remain experimental and secret. After that, they could be turned out fifty or a hundred each month, instead of two or three. Then the Empire of Englor would be able to fly whole divisions thousands of miles and land them in the Red Flames’ vital areas. Then the Red Flames would have to worry about every square mile of their immense territories. Englor might never land a single soldier inside Russland. But the fear that they might do so could keep hundreds of enemy leaders awake at night and hundreds of thousands of enemy soldiers tied up on local-defense duties. The whole balance of the war might shift in Englor’s favor.
After the three days of rest and reading, Blade was assigned to his light duty. This meant more reading of more files, four to six hours a day. It also meant occasional administrative decisions. Some were routine, some not. There was one occasion when he was asked for a decision on whether a certain pro-independence politician in one of Englor’s African colonies should be assassinated. Blade advised against it.
«There is no compelling reason for doing so at the moment,» his memorandum read. «The loyalty of the African units has not been seriously impaired. We are more likely to impair that loyalty by making Case 28 a martyr than by leaving him alone.»
Blade
hoped that recommendation would do some good. He wondered, though. The fact that he was allowed to handle files and make recommendations might mean that no one in Special Operations suspected a thing about his origins. But he had no way of knowing how many levels there were between him and the real decision makers. He didn’t know if he was actually functioning in isolation, continuously watched for some revealing slip. He didn’t know a great many things, and while he was resigned to this situation, he still didn’t like it.
One thing he knew was that the more background he got, the less likely he was to make slips. So he read files the six hours a day his duties required, and another six or eight hours each day on his own. He could only hope this would look like conscientiousness, rather than a desperate effort to learn things he should have known as well as he knew his own name.
One evening he was sitting in the Senior Lounge, a glass of beer on the floor beside his armchair and a file on Russland electronic countermeasures spread out on his lap. He became aware of someone passing in front of him and looked up in time to see a young woman sit down in the armchair on the opposite side of the little alcove. For a moment Blade pretended to be looking at the painting hanging on the wall over the woman’s chair-what looked like a vintage 1900 battleship at sea, pouring out great clouds of smoke and firing her guns furiously in all directions. Then he saw that the woman was looking directly at him, stopped pretending to ignore her, and returned her gaze.
He recognized the woman as someone from the Headquarters staff, but this was his first good look at her. Short, but carrying herself so well that she looked a good deal taller. Excellent figure, shown off to advantage in a gray tweed skirt and a maroon blouse, and very good legs. Hair cut in a neat pageboy bob, so blonde that it seemed to shimmer against the-dreary wallpaper and even drearier upholstery of her chair. Large, intensely blue eyes, and a wide mouth that began to curve upward into a gentle smile as Blade watched.
«Good evening,» she said. «I’ve seen you around here a few times, but we’ve never really been introduced. My name’s Elva Thompson.»
Blade smiled, acknowledging her polite frankness. «I could say very much the same thing.»
Her smile extended itself to her eyes. «Does that mean that your name is Elva Thompson, too?»
Blade laughed. «No. It means that I’ve seen you here several times too, but-Anyway, my name is Richard Blade.»
«Oh yes, you’re the newest of the Independents, aren’t you?»
Blade spent a moment considering how she might have discovered that fact. He did this more by reflex than because of any real suspicion. Here in the headquarters, where practically everyone had a Grade One or Two security classification, there were few secrets about who was doing what. When, where, and how were another matter.
«Yes,» said Blade. «You’re on the staff here, somewhere.»
She nodded. «I’m Assignment Coordinator for Staff Personnel.»
Blade was impressed. Elva couldn’t have been more than thirty, but her position was the second most important one for the day-to-day running of the headquarters. It was her job to keep track of staff assignments and shift people from one to another as circumstances demanded. That meant a Grade One classification, since she had to know a good deal about at least the planning end of every major Special Operations job.
Elva’s eyes fell on the files spread out across Blade’s lap and on the rug beside his chair. «Am I interrupting something important?»
«Not really,» said Blade. «I was beginning to think of tidying this up and tidying myself off to bed.» He looked at his watch. «It’s getting toward eleven, and I’m doing refresher jump training tomorrow. The alarm will be going off about five.»
«You’re going to jump in on your next mission?»
Blade shook his head. That might be a perfectly normal and innocent question. He was still glad that he could give a perfectly polite answer that revealed very little.
«Not necessarily. You know the way we Independents get pushed around. Forty-eight hours’ notice, all of it spent getting briefed. Then off we go, to some place whose name we may not even know until we get there. That means we’ve got to keep up every skill that we might possibly need.»
«I see.» She seemed to be hesitating, even a little nervous for a moment. Then she continued. «Do you suppose you could get me on one of the jump-training flights?»
«To jump?»
«Yes. I’ve got my own gear.»
«Are you planning to apply for a place among the Independents?» said Blade.
Elva laughed. «Oh no. I know my limits. I’m competent enough, but not that athletic. I’m also too sociable to spend my working hours perched on top of some frozen mountain in Russland, with nothing more intelligent than a sheep for fifty miles. It’s just that skydiving used to be a hobby of mine. Now the fuel allocation for civilian flying has been cut down so far that it’s hard to get someone to take me up.»
Blade knew what Elva meant. Bit by bit, the Imperial government was forcing the people of Englor to tighten their belts. Food, fuel, all sorts of consumer goods were slowly being restricted. Full-scale rationing was at most a few months away.
«I don’t think I can do anything for you this week,» said Blade: «There’s too heavy a training schedule. Next week, on the other hand-well, I’ll see what I can do.»
«I can’t ask for more than that,» said Elva, with a smile that seemed to light up the alcove. «Except perhaps if you would care to buy me a drink?»
Blade looked at his watch. It was now past eleven, and he’d been awake and on the go since well before six. On the other hand, he no longer felt tired or sleepy. Perhaps it was the effects of Elva’s company? In any case, a drink with her suddenly seemed like a very good idea.
«I’d be delighted,» said Blade, and rose from his chair to take Elva’s arm.
Chapter 11
They had to wait a week, but then there was no problem about slipping Elva onto the flight schedule for three jumps. Blade said only that Elva was «considering» applying for field training. «Considering» was a noncommittal word-she could always say afterward that she’d changed her mind, if any bureaucrat seemed likely to make a fuss. Probably none would. Special Operations was run with a refreshing lack of red tape. R knew perfectly well that the kind of people the Division needed for its work couldn’t be treated like infantry recruits.
So Blade and Elva spent an entire day of the next week on the jump range. The weather was gray and drizzly in the morning, but in the afternoon the sun came out and made the last two jumps of the day pure pleasure. Blade loved skydiving and warmed to anyone like Elva, who so obviously loved it also.
She not only loved it, she was really good at it. She was in excellent condition, skilled and even graceful in all the movements of leaving the jump plane, guiding herself down through five thousand feet of empty air, and landing safely on the green grass of the drop field. She not only landed safely, she landed as accurately as Blade.
As they were repacking their parachutes after the last jump, a thought struck Blade.
«Why don’t we requisition a car and go into town for dinner? I don’t know about you, but I haven’t been outside the Security Area since I joined Special Operations.»
«Except for that mission to Nordsbergen,» she said quietly.
Blade nodded. «True. But that hardly counts as relaxation. The food was poor, the entertainment worse, and I couldn’t say much for the company either.»
Elva laughed. «I’ll try to be better company than the Russlanders.»
«I don’t imagine you’ll have to try very hard,» he said. «Meet me at the garage at six?»
«Fine.»
For the Military Reservation that held Special Operations headquarters, the «town» was York. The old city was much the same mixture of the familiar and the strange that no longer unsettled or confused Blade. He was still alert for any differences that might mean useful knowledge to take back to Home Dimension, or danger for him here
in Englor.
Elva had been on duty at the headquarters for nearly three years, so Blade let her act as guide to the restaurants and night life of York. She did as well as she could, considering that there were only half a dozen good restaurants in the city. Fortunately it was a week night, so none of them were packed wall to wall with servicemen on pass.
They settled for a place called the Duke’s Head. Blade wondered which duke in particular the name meant, but didn’t ask. He didn’t want to even hint at any strange ignorance of Englor’s history, not to Elva. She’d been asking a good many questions about him and his work-too many for Blade’s complete peace of mind. He wasn’t suspicious of her-not yet-but he had well-developed instincts against telling anyone more about himself than was absolutely necessary. Those instincts were now fully alert where Elva Thompson was concerned.
They had one of the dining rooms at the Duke’s Head to themselves and ate surrounded by dark oak, smoke-tinged red brick, and gleaming copper. The service was good and the food superb. Cheese souffle, country ham with roast potatoes and young peas, fresh strawberries with thick clotted cream, a fine Gallic red wire, and an even finer brandy afterward-it was one of the most agreeable meals Blade could recall eating in any Dimension. He could not help feeling that it was rather a pity he had to be on the alert for whatever games Elva might possibly be playing. A pity or not, it had to be done.
Closing time was approaching. Elva looked into the bottom of her glass, where a few drops of golden brandy still caught the firelight. She seemed to be hesitating over something she badly wanted to say.
«Richard.»
He reached for the brandy bottle. «More?»
She shook her head. «I don’t think so.» More silence. «Richard. Have you thought about our possibly spending the night here in town?»
«Tonight?»
«Is there a better night?»
