by David Weber
“I realize he’s not the same man I knew when I was a kid. He’ll be close enough.”
“Okay, but on top of that he’s the governor of an entire nation. I normally spend months preparing for an insertion that involves high-ranking government officials or royalty, and we’re basically going to jump into this cold. We may not get past the front gate.”
“We will.” Benjamin finished buttoning up the shirt. “I know exactly how we’ll get his attention. He’ll want to see us. I guarantee it.”
“And when we do see him?”
“Just let me do the talking. I’ve got this.”
“You sure you’re okay? Because yesterday, you were a little—”
“I’m fine,” Benjamin interrupted. “The episode passed and I’m back to my normal self. Or what’s passing for normal these days.”
“All right,” Raibert shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t get me wrong, I agree leaving this to you is our best shot. Just don’t underestimate the problem and don’t screw this up.”
“I won’t.”
“So what kind of family magic will you use to get us in there?”
“Actually…” Benjamin looked over hesitantly. “Ella, I’m going to need your help for this.”
“Me?” She placed a hand to her chest.
“Yeah…I uhh…” He rubbed his hands together and walked up to her. “I need to ask you for something.”
“Sure. Anything.”
“I need something back from you. Something I just gave you that I’m very sorry I have to ask for.”
“Oh,” Elzbietá sighed as realization dawned on her face, and she lowered her head, crestfallen.
“What?” Raibert asked, turning from Benjamin to Elzbietá and back. “What are you two talking about? What’s wrong here?”
Elzbietá looked down at the backs of her fingers—and at the glittering ring she wore on one of them.
“I understand,” she whispered.
“I knew you would. And I’m sorry.”
“No, no. It’s okay.” She pulled the ring off her ringer and held it in her palm.
Raibert hurried over to them and looked at the ring. “Is that what this is about?”
“Don’t intrude,” Benjamin warned, then lifted Elzbietá’s chin. “I’ll bring it back. I promise.”
“I’ll understand if you can’t. I mean, it’s just a thing, after all. It can be replaced.”
“But it’s the one I want you to have.”
“That little thing?” Raibert pointed at the ring. “That’s what you two are worked up about?”
“It’s an heirloom of my family, and it’s also her engagement ring. So yes, it’s important to us.”
“Pfft!” Raibert snatched the ring out of Elzbietá’s hand and stomped over to the nearest printer.
“Hey!” Benjamin shouted.
Raibert flicked the ring into the analysis port.
“What are you doing?” Benjamin demanded.
“Solving your problem.” He stuck a hand on his hip and looked up at the printer. “Kleio!”
“Yes, Professor.”
“You see the ring in Bulk Printer One?”
“Yes, Professor.”
“Make an exact copy.”
“Right away, Professor.”
“There.” Raibert turned triumphantly to the others. “Problem solved.”
Benjamin frowned as he walked over and stared into the analysis port. The ring floated in a gravimetric field as lasers, cameras, and spectrometers spun around it.
“Didn’t think of that,” he finally said.
“That’s right, you didn’t.” Raibert slapped him on the back. “Good thing you have me here, huh?”
“Yes, Raibert.” Elzbietá crossed her arms. “We’re all very glad to have you along.”
“I’m detecting a slight hint of sarcasm there.”
“Slight?” Benjamin asked, and all three of them laughed.
*
Raibert and Benjamin walked along the paved street that led up a gentle slope through dense woodland. A chill wind whistled through the trees, and Benjamin buttoned his coat and turned up the collar to shield his neck. Flakes of snow fell from a gray overcast sky as afternoon transitioned into evening, and their boots crunched on a light dusting of snow.
“Not much traffic on this road,” Raibert observed.
“This street leads directly to the mansion and nothing else.” Benjamin shivered and took out a wool cap. He pulled it over his ears. “Button up your coat.”
“What?”
“Button it up. At least try to look cold.”
“Oh. Right.” Raibert put on his own cap and drew his coat tighter.
They trudged up the slope and came to the edge of a wide clearing.
“There it is,” Benjamin said, smiling at the baroque two-story mansion built in the middle of the clearing. Tall, rectangular windows were set evenly spaced across the second story’s pale blue exterior, while smaller windows looked out through the white marble of the first story. A parapet adorned the roof, and smoke billowed from several white smokestacks.
The building sprawled out with expansive wings to the east, west, and north, and a tall, wrought-iron fence sectioned off the carefully manicured inner grounds and a parking lot with a mix of expensive-looking American, German, and Ukrainian vehicles.
“I’ve seen bigger,” Raibert dismissed.
“Well of course you have.” Benjamin shook his head and trudged onward.
“Still, it’s nice. A bit fancier than I was expecting.”
“This is the Provisional Residence. When Klaus-Wilhelm accepted the position of provisional governor, he was offered the Mezhyhirya Residence, which is a luxury estate on the banks of the Dnieper River. He refused, however, because he said it would be improper for him to live in such opulence, since he was merely a provisional authority. He declared that the Mezhyhirya Residence should be held in trust for future presidents once Ukraine became a permanent member of the United Nations.”
“Then where did this place come from?”
“The Ukrainians built it for him. It’s modeled after Mariyinsky Palace, which was unfortunately destroyed during the Great Eastern War. Because of that, it’s sometimes called Little Mariyinsky or Second Mariyinsky.”
“He refuses to live in a luxurious house on the river, so instead, the people of Ukraine build a palace for him?”
“And his family, too. He took a Ukrainian wife in 1953. Gräfin Yulia von Schröder—my grandmother. I think you’ll like her…if she doesn’t decide to shoot you out of hand. She and their three children are probably in there right now.”
“They must have really loved him.”
“He spearheaded the campaign that freed this country from the Soviet Union. So yeah, you could say he earned it.”
“Sounds to me like your family used to be a big deal.”
“What do you mean ‘used to be’?” Benjamin gave him a sour look.
“Oh, don’t be like that, Doc.” The synthoid glanced over his shoulder. “I’m a time traveler. Everything is past tense to me.”
“I suppose I have to give you that.” Benjamin glanced back as well. An outline on his interface lenses illustrated the shrouded TTV’s location. “Ella, how are we looking?”
“There’s a sniper on the roof watching you.”
“Can you mark his position for us?”
“Sure.”
A virtual arrow indicated the sniper’s position, but Benjamin made an effort not to look directly at it.
“The residence has a lot of security,” Elzbietá continued. “I’d say about fifty soldiers in and around the grounds. Most of them have MP44 machine pistols backed up by squad automatic weapons of some sort. Not just MG42s, either. I know what those are when I see them, and this isn’t them. Looks more like a German version of the BAR.”
“Fallschirmjägergewehr 42s, probably,” Benjamin said. “The MP44 was technically a machine pistol, but it was really the ancest
or of all assault rifles, with a special ‘short’ cartridge to reduce recoil on full auto. The FG42 was something the Luftwaffe’s paratroopers came up with in competition. Fires a full-sized seven-point-two rifle round that gives it more reach and more terminal energy than the MP44, and it’s magazine fed, so there’s no ammo belt to worry about. But no one could control it on full auto as well as the MP44, so they adopted both of them, with the FG42 in the support role because of its greater range.”
“You do have the damnedest tidbits tucked away. Guess it comes from having a German general for a grandfather!” Despite the tension, there was more than a trace of laughter in her voice, and Benjamin could picture her smile as she shook her head.
“In addition to that, though,” she went on, “I see a lot of Panzerfaust 200s, the postwar variant. Mostly US M1911s for sidearms, for some reason, and I even see a few M20 super bazookas—guess that’s crossover from the Western Alliance? Your grandfather had…eclectic tastes in weaponry, didn’t he, Ben?”
“You might say that.” Benjamin smiled. “He always told me the nine-millimeter was good for pissing people off. If you really wanted to kill them, you went with a .45.”
“I’m sure all that meant a lot more to the two of you than it did to me,” Raibert groused. “To summarize, they have a lot of scary period guns.”
“Yeah, that about sums it up. A dozen dogs, too. Mostly German Shepherds.”
“They sound so friendly,” Raibert commented.
“It’s to be expected,” Benjamin said as the road met the iron fence. Baroque flourishes crowned it, and they followed it toward the main gate and security kiosk. “There are still occasional partisan attacks from people trying to rekindle the Soviet flame. Not as many as there were immediately after the war, but Residence security still needs to be ready for it.”
“Is that sniper aiming at us?” Raibert asked.
“At you, actually.”
“Great. He targeting my head?”
“As a matter of fact, he is,” Elzbietá replied.
“Well, at least he won’t shoot off anything important.”
They walked along the fence to a gate wide enough for two lanes of traffic with a marble security kiosk to one side.
“Six soldiers in the kiosk,” Elzbietá reported. “One FG42, five MP44s, plus grenades and pistols. One more walking from the residence to the kiosk, maybe in response to your arrival. And a dog, in case that’s a problem.”
“I don’t know.” Benjamin turned to Raibert. “How do dogs react to Admin synthoids?”
“I guess we’re going to find out. You ready for this?”
“Just leave it to me. I’ll get us in.”
Benjamin fingered the ring his pocket, then thought better of it and pulled his hands out despite the chill. He let them dangle where the men with the guns could see them.
“Raibert, take your hands out of your coat. You’re going to make them nervous.”
“But I thought I was supposed to act cold.”
“Just shut up and do it.”
*
Major Anton Silchenko hated this part of his job.
Sure, the war—a war some called the Great Eastern War, but one he simply thought of as the liberation of his homeland—had been a brutal crucible. It had tested his will to endure pain and hardship, but at least those Bolshevik dogs had the common decency to wear uniforms most of the time.
There was a simplicity to that life, however cruel, where everyone wore their affiliation on the outside. He’d served under the governor for most of that conflict and he’d come out the far side with scars both physical and mental, but in a strange sort of way, he preferred that reality to one where plainclothes civilians could be partisan agents who attacked without warning.
Anton didn’t think the two men were partisans yearning stupidly for the Soviet Union. They were far too conspicuous for that. No, they were something else; he just didn’t know what yet, and that made him uncomfortable.
He stood back and watched as the two men continued to argue with Landser Roderich Garlesch.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the ginger-haired Bavarian repeated, “but the governor is away on business.”
“No, he’s not,” the one calling himself Benjamin said with complete certainty, and Anton understood why. It was a rather obvious lie, though it worked more often than one might think. The governor attracted all sorts of uninvited visitors. Not all of them had anything…untoward in mind, but some of them certainly did. And most of the others were nuisances, at best. His security detail was his first line of defense, and simply denying he was home was usually sufficient to discourage all but the most persistent. And when it wasn’t, well…
Anton shook his head. He didn’t know what kind of game these two were playing, but they’d come to the wrong place. The security at the mansion, which Anton commanded, was composed almost entirely of veterans from Klaus-Wilhelm’s days as one of the Western Alliance’s hardest-driving and most-charismatic panzer commanders.
Good luck, fellas, he thought. You’re not getting past us without an invitation.
“I’m sorry, sir, but the governor is away,” Garlesch repeated once again with deliberate, pigheaded stubbornness. He sometimes thought the kid liked to see whose will would break first when obstinate visitors came knocking.
“Would you please stop lying to me?” the smaller of the two asked. “This is completely unnecessary.”
The man calling himself Benjamin had only given his first name. He sounded like an American, though something was a little off about his accent. Then again, the United States was a big country, and Anton hadn’t worked with that many Americans over the years.
The other man, a big guy with a German look about him, hadn’t spoken yet. Anton didn’t know what to make of him other than the fact that their dog, Balthasar, hadn’t taken his eyes off the newcomer since he walked up. But despite all the attention the fellow was getting from Balthasar, the animal hadn’t growled at him or shown any sign of hostility, almost as if he were confused by something rather than sensed a hidden threat.
The big man noticed the dog watching and waved at the animal. Balthasar tilted his head to one side and let out a soft, questioning whine.
“Sir, if you would like to petition the governor for an audience upon his return, I can assist you by providing the necessary paperwork.”
“No, I would not like to fill out any forms.”
“Then, I am sorry. But there seems to be nothing I can do to help you.”
“Look, it’s very clear you have no interest in helping me.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, sir.”
The big man stirred and took a step forward.
“No, I’ll handle this,” Benjamin snapped, then turned back to Garlesch. “I demand to speak to your superior.”
“I’m sorry, but my superior is away on business.”
Anton almost blurted out a laugh, but he quickly coughed into his fist.
“Am I really expected to believe that?” Benjamin asked.
“The governor and his staff are very busy people. I’m not sure what you were expecting, sir.”
“He may be busy, but he’s sitting in his office right now!”
“And how do you know that?” Anton asked, speaking for the first time since the two men arrived. He walked forward, and Garlesch stepped aside to let him pass.
“I assume you’re the person in charge here,” Benjamin said.
“You assume correctly.”
“In that case, I have a very important message for you to deliver to the Governor.”
“And why would I bother him with what you have to say?”
“Because after you deliver it to him, he’ll order you to bring us inside.”
Anton stared at the man’s cool gray eyes, but all he found there was absolute certainty, and he began to doubt if this was a game at all.
“Search them,” he ordered, and the soldiers at the kiosk sprang into action. Rifles snapp
ed up, and Garlesch and two others moved in and began patting down the two men. Benjamin held up his hands, never taking his eyes off Anton, while the big man behind him raised his arms with a bored expression on his face.
The search didn’t take long because the two men had almost nothing on them.
“No papers,” Anton remarked. “No money. No identification. Now don’t you think that’s a little odd?”
Benjamin said nothing.
“In fact, the only thing you were carrying is this.” Anton held up a ring. The diamonds on its five interlocking circles glittered fiercely even in the dull evening light. “Now why would this be the only thing you two are carrying?”
“Because that”—Benjamin smiled—“is my message.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Provisional Residence, Ukraine
1958 CE
Governor Klaus-Wilhelm von Schröder leaned back in the generously padded leather armchair and took a sip of his customary evening beer. He savored the gentle bitterness of the imported Erdinger weissbier, then lit his customary evening cigarette, drew in a deep breath, and exhaled a puffy cloud.
Flecks of snow stuck then melted against the tall windows of his office in the east wing. The sky darkened, and hints of city lights from Kiev could be seen in the distance, splashing against more intense snow beyond the treetops.
He tapped the ash off his cigarette into the tray on his wide wooden desk and took another measured sip. The ubiquitous beverage from his birthplace in Brandenburg remained to this day one of his few indulgences. He enjoyed one—and only one—in the evening when he sat down for the mindless administrative work that concluded most of his days.
The governor cast a jaundiced eye at the stack in his inbox. Always more papers to sign. Always more petitions that urgently needed responses. Always more problems to solve. A part of him was happy he’d soon be done with all this, but the other half knew he’d miss it. To have a hand in the rebuilding of a whole nation was an opportunity few could lay claim to, and he’d attacked the problem with the relentlessness that was at his very core. He had some regrets and wished he could undo some of his decisions, but overall, he felt content with how this chapter of his life was coming to a close.
